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<See page 30. 

"HOLD ON TO THE CANOE!" HE HEARD SOMEONE CALL. "I — 8 
CAN’T,’’ HE SPLUTTERED. 


■ 


" HELP— HELP— I ’ — " 


IN THE 

Path of La Salle 

OR 

BOY SCOUTS ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


BY 

PERCY K. FITZHUGH 

3 ' 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. FISK 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



4 


F 





©C!. A 388003 


Copyright, 1914, 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY. 
Published September, 19 1 4- 

OCT 21 1914 

bo / 


\— -i m 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Wesley Binford i 

II. The River io 

III. The Strangers 16 

IV. Wesley Binford Has His Wish .... 27 

V. A Friend in Need 42 

VI. On the Subject of Fighting 54 

VII. The Enemy’s First Move 71 

VIII. The Other Boy 78 

IX. Harry Hears of the Lost Cache . . . . 100 

X. “Query” 116 

XI. East Hill 137 

XII. A Stranger and an Accident 150 

.XIII. The Hero . 166 

XIV. Bad News 178 

XV. The Stormy Petrel in Action 193 

XVI. “That Fellow, the Martyr” 203 

XVII. Another Disappearance 214 

XVIII. Friends in Need 223 

XIX. * A Discovery 238 

XXr * Wesley Falls Into the Hands of Scoun- 
drels 256 

XXI. Two Letters 270 

XXII. The Cyclone 276 

XXIII. The Laugh is on Harry 294 

XXIV. Enter the Slow Poke 306 

XXV. The Mississippi Sidesteps 318 

XXVI. Westward Ho 333 

XXVII. Down the Mississippi 340 

XXVIII. The “Train Robbers” 348 

XXIX. Gordon Decides Not to Claim the Reward 356 

XXX. Plans and Farewells 369 



« 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Drawings by H. Fisk. 


page 

“ Hold on to the canoe ! ” he heard someone call. “I — I 
can’t,” he spluttered. “ Help — help — I ’, — ” Frontis- 
piece 30 

“ Then, amid rising clouds of brown dust, he hurled the 
laden bags, one after another, into the wagon ”... 123 V 

“Again a piercing cry came from below. Regardless of 
Bobby’s frantic warning, Harry rose to his full height ” 285 ^ 

“ Map of Little Snake Bend ” 318 

“ It seemed fully a minute before Dr. Brent could get 
possession of himself sufficiently to answer” . . . 364 


TO THE SKIPPER OF THE “CHUM” 



BOY SCOUTS ON THE 
MISSISSIPPI 

CHAPTER I 

WESLEY BINFORD 

If ever a man knew how to fill an ice cream cone, 
that man was Sparrow. He pressed the ice cream 
down into the very apex, packing it tight and hard ; 
then building on this honest foundation he piled 
and crushed the cream in until it formed a luscious 
dome, like an arctic mountain, above the little con- 
ical cup. This he handed to you, dripping. 

That is why the boys patronized Sparrow. It 
was easy enough to get ice cream cones, such as 
they were, down in Oakwood Village, but Spar- 
row, remote and obscure, far up beyond the second 
bend of the river, had served Gordon Lord one 
afternoon and Gordon had returned down the river 
to Oakwood and made Sparrow famous. Spar- 
row’s flourishing trade was attributable to Master 
Gordon Lord; and this whole story comes out of 
an ice cream cone. 

The front of Sparrow’s odd little place was on 


2 


BOY SCOUTS 


the village street of Bridgevale, its side toward the 
river where there was a float, a launching track 
and a little grove furnished with rickety tables and 
rustic chairs. These were for the boating parties, 
Sparrow’s guests. 

And Bridgevale? Oh, Bridgevale was a village 
which sponged on Oakwood and called frantically 
for Oakwood’s fire department whenever it had a 
fire. But there weren’t many fires. If there had 
been there wouldn’t have been much Bridgevale, 
as Bridgevale’s stock of fuel consisted of just nine- 
teen houses. Brick Parks always claimed that you 
couldn’t see Bridgevale without a field-glass, and 
one day the Oakwood boys, being in facetious mood, 
drove a stake in the ground along the river bank 
near Sparrow’s, so they would know Bridgevale 
when they came to it. Of course, they did that to 
jolly Sparrow; but what did Sparrow care? He 
knew Brick Parks. 

Time was when Sparrow looked to Bridgevale 
for his livelihood, but that was before he had dis- 
covered the vast possibilities of the ice cream cone 
and turned his calculating eye upon the gay river. 
Now parties coming from far down the stream and 
even from the bay would stop there for refresh- 
ment. 

Sparrow’s stock consisted of ice cream, to be 
served in plate or cone, root beer, cheese, crackers, 
spark plugs, cake, canoe paddles, pie, medium oil, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3 


gum drops, batteries, chocolates and gasoline. You 
could regale yourself or your motor-boat at Spar- 
row’s. You could, if you chose, leave your canoe 
there over night and go down to Oakwood by train 
if the weather were threatening, or if you were 
tired of paddling. An old rudder hung loose by 
its pintles from one of the tree-trunks, like an old 
tavern signboard, and on this was graven the leg- 
end, RIVERSIDE REST. But most of the pa- 
trons persisted in calling the place simply 
“ Sparrow’s.” 

The only things not of an edible or serviceable 
nature that Sparrow kept were picture post-cards. 
He had a rusty revolving rack filled with these, 
which creaked when you turned it so that the girls 
always pressed their elbows into their sides and 
drew long breaths between their clenched teeth, 
and shuddered. For this reason the boys always 
gave it a vigorous twirl when they passed it going 
to or from the float. 

On a certain Saturday in early spring Wesley 
Bin ford stood on the Boat Club steps in Oakwood, 
watching the river. I remember it was a Saturday 
because it was the same day that the Oakwood 
scouts, both patrols, the Beavers and the Hawks, 
went into the city with Red Deer for their annual 
spring assault upon several sporting goods estab- 
lishments. That was the very reason why Harry 
Arnold, leader in the Beavers, could not go canoe- 


4 


BOY SCOUTS 


ing up the river with Marjorie Danforth. But 
that is another matter. 

Wesley stood on the Boat Club steps, his hands 
in his pockets, contemplating the river. The pretty 
cupolaed boat-house with its pleasant veranda and 
easy-chairs was a tempting spot for summer loung- 
ing, and here the boys whose fathers were members 
of the Club were wont to loll away many an idle 
hour in vacation time. The boating had not yet 
begun; only one launch lay at the floats, but sev- 
eral others standing on blocks hard by were in 
process of renovation for the “Commodore’s 
Run,” which would formally open the season. 
Several canoes lay inverted on saw-horses about the 
lawn, their fresh paint drying in the sun. But the 
flower beds and gravel walks were yet unkempt, 
showing that whatever preparation the members 
might be making to launch their little craft, the 
Club had not officially pronounced the season open. 

No boatman had as yet been engaged. The na- 
tional emblem had not been raised on the cupola 
nor the Club pennant on the little shack where the 
boatman stayed. And everything was under lock 
and key. 

Wesley wondered when they intended to hire a 
boatman, and whether he might — no, he couldn’t; 
the very thought of it was humiliating. Yet there 
was nine dollars a week with very little to do ex- 
cept raise and lower the colors, trim the walks, keep 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


5 


the lawn mowed and help the canoeists to and from 
the floats with their canoes. So far as the trim- 
ming and mowing were concerned, Wesley did as 
much at home ; but he could not do such things for 
money. 

Yet no boy that ever lived wanted money more 
than Wesley Binford. 

He was a tall boy of about eighteen with a ruddy 
color, gray eyes, and a manner which people called 
likable. He was of all things manly in his look 
and demeanor, slim but healthful and muscular- 
looking, and with that indescribable something 
which suggests good instincts and good breeding. 
There was a little touch of superciliousness in his 
bearing, directed toward the world in general, par- 
ticularly toward the unoffending, slow, beautiful, 
tree-embowered town of Oakwood, with the lovely 
river winding through it. 

But supercilious or not, there was something par- 
ticularly winning in Wesley’s smile, and to supple- 
ment these favorable qualities of appearance, he 
was really generous and good-hearted. Small chil- 
dren liked him immensely (which I think is a good 
sign), and when he allowed himself to relax and 
be just the amiable, attractive, inexperienced boy 
that he was, everybody liked him and thought him 
charming. 

But two things made Wesley dissatisfied and 
caused that little sneer which more and more of 


6 


BOY SCOUTS 


late had disfigured his countenance. His parents 
were poor (not so very poor, but too poor for Wes- 
ley) and the restrictions which this fact placed 
upon his life irked him and made him cynical and 
covetous. Besides, he was dissatisfied with his 
youth. He wished to be a man and the pose of 
sophfsticated worldly wisdom which he assumed de- 
prived him, first and last, of a good deal of whole- 
some, boyish pleasure. 

That is the reason why Wesley was not in the 
city with the scouts this beautiful Saturday instead 
of standing here alone on the Boat Club steps, won- 
dering what to do with himself. He was on 
friendly enough terms with all the troop, particu- 
larly with Harry Arnold, but he said they were 
kids — nice kids, he admitted — but kids. 

Oh, Wesley, Wesley, you make me laugh! 

He cast a twig in the river and saw that the tide 
had not yet turned, it was still running up. He 
ambled along past the tiers of canoe lockers under 
the porch. Each was numbered and when he came 
to 53 he paused and tried the padlock, but it was 
fast. He gave a little amused sneer as if he did 
not care a bit, and wandered on. 

But 53 was his unlucky number. In a few min- 
utes he was before the locker again and this time 
he held a small stone. With this he tapped the bar 
of the padlock sideways very lightly and from a 
dexterous little twirl it presently fell open. Most 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


7 


of the old Boat Club padlocks yielded readily to 
this cunning treatment and, first and last, they were 
subjected to it a great deal. For instance, there 
were the Lawton boys, three of them, and only one 
key; and that key had a perverse way of never be- 
ing with any of them when it was wanted. Then 
besides, there was a kind of free-and-easy code at 
the Boat Club anyway. Everybody knew every- 
body else, there was mutual trust and good fellow- 
ship in the boating fraternity, and locks were 
“ hypnotized ” and canoes “ borrowed ” in a spirit 
of genial brigandage, much the same as a fellow’s 
neckties and scarf-pins are “ copped ” and used by 
his chums at boarding-school. 

I say this because I do not want to prejudice you 
against Wesley. There were, to be sure, some who 
never did this thing, and in this particular case it 
is right to tell you that Wesley’s father was not a 
member of the Club. I should say that might make 
a difference. 

In any event, he threw open the locker and 
grasped the end of the canoe, pulled it out over its 
rollers, hauled it to the nearest float and slid it into 
the river. 

It was an unusually handsome canoe with the 
high, curving ends of the true Indian model, and 
painted a bright vermilion hue which contrasted 
pleasantly with the rich green of the new foliage 
as it glided silently upstream between the wooded, 


8 


BOY SCOUTS 


overhanging shores. As Wesley passed under the 
rustic bridge there was the usual Saturday battal- 
ion of small boys perched upon its rail, their fish 
lines dangling in the water below. They made a 
row all the way along the bridge, the lines forming 
a sort of whip-lash curtain through which the canoe- 
ist must pass. 

“ Hey, look out for those lines, will you ! ” piped 
a diminutive urchin. 

“ Sure he will,” reassured another ; “ he’s a nice 
fellow; I know that red canoe.” 

Evidently the owner of the vermilion canoe was 
to be trusted. 

Wesley cast a mischievous look at the group 
above, then with a dexterous sideways swing of his 
paddle he involved all the lines in a hopeless tangle. 
Emerging from beneath the bridge, he was greeted 
with a storm of appropriate epithets and, I am happy 
to say, with one or two well-directed missiles. 
One, a wriggling eel, caught him in the neck, but 
he cast it off good-humoredly and called, “ Good 
shot ! ” at the elated marksman. There was a 
good deal of the true sport about Wesley. 

“Why didn’t you pull your lines up?” he de- 
manded. 

“ A-a-a-w ! ” was the contemptuous reply. 
“You ain’t the fellow that owns that canoe! ” 

“ Don’t get mad, now,” laughed Wesley, dodg- 
ing a missile. “Can’t you take a joke? Climb 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


9 

down here, kiddo,. and I’ll give you a dime to buy 
some more line.” 

“ Ye-e-e-s, you won’t ! ” 

“ Sure I will ; climb down and hang onto that 
brace.” 

“Don’t you go, he’s kiddin’ you!” advised one 
sage youngster. 

But the little fellow clambered down, while Wes- 
ley fumbled in his pocket, the others crowding at 
the rail in sneering skepticism. 

“ Gee ! ” said Wesley, abashed ; “ I haven’t got 
any change — honest. You be here when I come 
down.” 

“Ye-e-e-s,” came a storm of distrust. “You 
think you can fool us, don’t you, you big — ” 

But it was not quite so bad as that, for Wesley 
really did mean to pay for his little act of per- 
versity. It was like him to tangle the lines simply 
because he had been asked not to. It was quite like 
him to wish to undo the little act of meanness di- 
rectly it had been committed. It amuses me too 
to think how exactly like him it was not to have a 
dime in his pocket. And as for his promising to 
pay it on the way down when there was no means 
of getting it meanwhile, why, that was just Wesley 
Binford all over. 


CHAPTER II 


THE RIVER 

If the small boys had known how little the flying 
objects troubled Wesley, they would have ceased 
hurling them. What did trouble him and humiliate 
him was that his fine, sportsmanlike attempt at 
restitution had been such a ridiculous failure and 
left him contemptible in their eyes. That was 
where the shoe pinched. To be called fresh, even 
mean, that was not so bad, for such opinions could 
be very easily dissipated by the liberal distribution 
of small coin. And it was always Wesley’s silly 
conceit to dance simply that he might pay the fid- 
dler, like a generous, reckless, devil-may-care 
sport. 

The last missile of the fusillade was a “ shedder- 
crab,” and it caught him in the neck and clung 
there, amid triumphant yells from the bridge. 

“ Go on, you cheap skate ! ” called a voice, de- 
risively. 

Wesley loosened the crab and cast it in the water. 
He was blushing scarlet, for this last epithet burned 
him like a hot iron. He had wanted to act a fine 
part, — free, liberal, open-handed, before these ad- 

io 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


ii 


miring kids, and here he was paddling up the river 
with that unpleasant epithet of “ cheap skate ” 
ringing in his ears. If it had been Hallerton, or 
Carpenter, or Parks, or Arnold, they would have 
had money in their pockets, he told himself with a 
disagreeable little sneer, as he plunged his paddle 
in the water. 

“ Confound that thing! ” he said, kicking an ar- 
ticle of clothing which his foot encountered. 
“ The bottom of this canoe’s a regular rummage 
sale ! ” Then, noticing the dusty imprint which his 
foot left upon the garment, he reached forward 
and lifted it carefully. 

It was a light brown mackinaw jacket, belted 
and plaited, of that sort which had lately come into 
vogue, and Wesley as he held it up, noticing its 
trim cut and vivid Indian figures, examined it not 
without a twinge of envy. 

“Gee, but he’s a lucky fellow,” he mused; “he 
has everything that’s going.” 

Whoever the “ lucky fellow ” was, Wesley liked 
him well enough to be careful of his property, and 
folding it properly he was about to lay it on one 
of the cushions when a jingling sound caught his 
attention, and a number of coins fell to the bottom 
of the canoe. 

“ Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he said, gathering them 
up with the aid of his paddle. This was not an 
easy task for the canoe rocked perilously from his 


12 


BOY SCOUTS 


movements, but having satisfied himself that he had 
recovered them all, he replaced them in the pocket 
from which he thought they had fallen, buttoned 
down the flap so that they might not escape again, 
and resumed his paddling. 

Beyond the first bend the river narrowed and the 
abrupt wooded shores formed a somber spot which 
the canoeists called “ Twilight Turn” because it 
seemed always clothed in the half light of depart- 
ing day. Here could usually be seen in the sum- 
mertime some lonely fisherman, sitting in his 
anchored skiff, or sometimes a lolling canoeist (or 
more often, a pair of them) idling away a sultry 
afternoon in cushioned ease, and drifting hither 
and thither in their frail craft. It was felt to be 
an imposition that the fishermen should usurp this 
poetic spot, and as for their calling it “ Perch 
Hole,” there wasn’t a girl in Oakwood who didn’t 
shudder at the ugly appellation. 

At present a cord was drawn taut across this 
shaded stretch, high enough for any canoeist to 
pass under by stooping, and a red rag dangled from 
its center to attract the eye of the voyager. 

Wesley did not notice any lines depending from 
this horizontal cord, nor anything at the ends of it. 
He supposed that it was set for eels and that it 
was just another instance of the ruthless way the 
fishermen were wont to appropriate the river to 
their own pursuits, to the embarrassment of navi- 
gation. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


i3 

“Well, that’s the limit!” he said, pausing an- 
grily. “Til — be— ” 

Words could not express his indignation. All 
last summer had he and the rest of the boating 
fraternity watched with angry disapproval the 
huge dredge which had settled itself comfortably 
at Oakwood to clean out the river. He had seen 
the motor-boats monopolizing the channel. He 
had seen the fishermen in calm possession of the 
shadiest spots. And now here was a still more 
insolent violation of popular right. 

“ This is a public waterway,” he said, shaking 
his head, “ and can’t be obstructed.” He had seen 
the phrases, “ public waterway ” and “ cannot be 
obstructed ” in a newspaper editorial which had 
questioned certain rights of the Water Supply Com- 
pany, and he used them now because they seemed to 
have a legal, authoritative sound. These encroach- 
ments were coming to be beyond endurance. The 
river was made to canoe on. The beautiful stream 
winding between its wooded shores was for his 
enjoyment and that of other canoeists. He was 
very certain of that. 

So, instead of passing under the cord, he 
wrenched it loose from both shores and cast it in 
the water. It was just at that moment that he 
noticed on the farther shore a pole planted in the 
ground, from which flew a small blue flag. In its 
center was a circle of thirteen stars and inside this 


14 


BOY SCOUTS 


a triangle with two hammers crossing its face. 
The design was white. A little way back in the 
woods Wesley caught a glimpse of what he thought 
to be a tent, almost entirely concealed by the foliage. 
Half way down the flag-pole was a printed sign 
which, if he had not been so consumed with right- 
eous indignation, he might have seen before. It 
read: 

This line is the property of the United States Government. 
All persons are warned not to remove or interfere with it in 
any way. Launches will stop 30 feet from line and signal to 
attendant if line will not permit them to pass. 

Wesley did not pause to take issue with any one. 
On the contrary he paddled just as rapidly and 
just as quietly as he could up the much-misused 
“ public waterway ” until, beyond the second bend, 
he reached the little wayside rest of Sparrow. 
Here the champion who would not allow the public 
waterway to be obstructed was presently to encoun- 
ter a third obstacle to his pleasure and peace of 
mind. This was a slender girl of about fifteen, 
who was leaning against one of the rustic tables 
and calmly watching him as he brought up along- 
side the float. To Wesley her quiet observation 
was very disconcerting. He had an odd feeling 
that he might not be altogether welcome. But he 
was a sensitive boy and I dare say this was just 
his imagination. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


15 

“ Hello, Honor,” he said, cheerily. “ I haven't 
seen you since last falL ,, 

“Do you want to see father?” she asked. 

“ Why — er, yes — I — that is — I just pad- 
died up to sort of start the season, you know. 
Somebody's got to start it. They’d never wake up 
down in Oakwood unless somebody started things. 
It’s a case of * Let me dream again.’ Most of them 
don’t know the skating’s over yet, and they won’t 
know the boating’s started till the skating begins 
again. They’re dead down there and they don’t 
know it.” 

“ So?” said the girl; “ how odd!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE STRANGERS 

Sparrow came out of the little shack into the 
grove, greeting the boy cordially. It was hard to 
say how old Sparrow was, but he was not young. 
His face was shaven and deeply wrinkled and his 
hair was thick and curly and of an iron-gray hue. 
His eyes were blue and as simple and honest as 
those of a little child. 

It was an open secret that Sparrow had failed 
in the world. The great city had been too much 
for him and he had come up here with all he had, 
his young daughter and his small savings, and 
bought this little place which now furnished his liv- 
ing and constituted his home. He had the reward 
which most men have who fail because they lack 
shrewdness; he was trusted and liked. Every one 
had a feeling of affection for him, and the very 
qualities which had made him a failure in a large 
way had brought about his present modest prosper- 
ity in this small field. 

It was very easy to “ jolly ” Sparrow, and he 
would readily swallow the most atrocious yarns. 

16 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


17 


He always gave overweight in candy, crackers and 
such things. He hadn't been to the city for ten 
years and the Oakwood boys hoped he never would 
go there, for they used to tell him the most out- 
landish things about the city. He didn’t believe 
their tales but he always laughed amiably and was 
glad to see the boys enjoying themselves at his ex- 
pense. When Sparrow was sick Dr. Brent used to 
run up from Oakwood in his car each day to see 
him and was quite insulted when Sparrow asked 
for his bill. When he was getting better the Oak- 
wood boys “ chipped in ” and gave him an easy- 
chair. On the whole, I am inclined to think that 
Sparrow was a great success. 

“ H’lo, Charlie,” said Wesley, “ how are 
things? ” 

" Beginning to seem like spring, isn’t it ? ” Spar- 
row drawled. “ How’s Oakwood?” 

“ Oh,” said Wesley, “ I wouldn’t speak disre- 
spectfully of the dead.” 

Sparrow laughed good-humoredly, and Wesley 
was encouraged. 

“ Why, even the tide turns around and goes back 
when it gets to Oakwood,” said he. 

“ That’s very witty,” said the girl, “ but it isn’t 
quite true ; and that other one about speaking disre- 
spectfully of the dead — didn’t you say that last 
year? ” 

Wesley was disconcerted; he wished she would 
go away. 


i8 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ I think,” he said, “ that a large and juicy cone 
would be about right now ; got any chocolate, 
Charlie?” 

The girl brought the cone and stood waiting by 
the table where her father and Wesley were seated. 
Sparrow saw that Wesley was uncomfortable and 
nodded to his daughter, who went away. 

“ Til fix that up next week, Charlie.” 

" That’s all right, Wesley; I don’t want you to 
feel that you can’t stop here unless you have money 
with you.” 

“ You’re all right, Charlie,” said Wesley, approv- 
ingly. “ I guess you’ll never lose anything by me.” 

Sparrow laughed at the very thought. 

“ Who’s camping down the line, Charlie ? 
There’s a tent down at the bend.” 

“ Oh, those are the surveyor folks ; I guess 
they’re about done now,” Sparrow drawled. 

“ What — what are they surveying?” 

Sparrow smiled. “ Why, Wesley, where have 
you been keeping yourself? ” 

“ Maybe he’s dead and doesn’t know it,” said the 
girl, who had returned to rub off the table. 

Wesley was nettled. He could not talk easily 
while she was near so he just drummed on the table 
until she went away again. When she was a yard 
or so distant she wheeled about with unconscious 
grace and asked if he wanted anything more. 

“ You want another cone, Wesley?” said Spar- 


row. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


19 


“N-no, I guess not; tell me about this bunch, 
will you? They seem to have an idea they own 
the river.” 

“ Oh, I guess not,” Sparrow laughed, softly. 
“ They seem to be a first-rate set. I believe I’ll miss 
them when they’re gone. ’Long about now you 
know, Wesley, I usually begin to get anxious to see 
the canoes come along. I kind of hanker after 
spring — and I’m glad you paddled up, Wesley — 
it’s good to see you. I suppose the other boys will 
be coming up in a day or so. Well, now, these 
surveyor folks have been real good company to me. 
Captain Craig, he’d come and set right down where 
you are and chat, and you wouldn’t believe it, Wes- 
ley, the adventures that man has had. 

“One of those boys — the one they call Bob — 
I never heard tell of such things as he’s been 
through ! Had a fight with a grizzly — sounds 
just like a dime novel, Wesley, so it does. And he 
went across from one mountain peak to another on 
a rope — rode in a little wicker basket to — to — 
er — verify a contour.” 

“ To how?” 

“ I can’t tell you what that means, Wesley,” 
laughed Sparrow. “ I don’t like to interrupt them 
much to ask. Honor and I, we just sit and listen.” 

“ Swallow it whole, hey? Does she believe their 
stories? ” 

“ Why, they rooted out a band of train-robbers 


20 


BOY SCOUTS 


in Kentucky, Wesley, the day before they sent the 
Mammoth Cave in by parcel post, and — ” here 
Sparrow broke down in innocent laughter. 

Wesley waited with cynical amusement, pitying 
his host’s credulity. “ I suppose they’ve killed a 
few giants and dragons, too,” he suggested. 

“ Oh, they just meant mailing the map in, I sup- 
pose,” Sparrow explained ; “ but I do declare it’s 
good to hear them talk — ’specially the captain. 
Honor and I’ll both hate to see them go and that’s 
a fact. We had quite a little joke, Wesley, she 
and I; when their launch would go chugging by 
she’d run down to the float and shout through the 
megaphone for the captain to come over and talk 
to father, and I’d make believe it was she all the 
while that wanted to hear about the adventures. 
She’s great for adventures — I never saw such a 
girl ! ” 

“ Guess that’s why she likes Harry Arnold.” 

“Well, that’s a fact, Wesley; Harry has been 
about some, and that two years he spent in Panama, 
it’s just made a man of him. It’s a great thing 
for a boy to get away and be thrown on his own — ” 

“Well, how about this outfit?” Wesley inter- 
rupted. “Who are they, anyhow?” 

“ Why, they come from Washington, Wesley, 
from the Department of Geological and Coast Sur- 
vey. They’ve been mapping up the river. You 
never heard such yarns as they have to tell. I 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


21 


could just sit and listen to them all night. They 
lined up the Everglades down in Florida — that’s 
what they call it, 4 lining up.’ And they packed up 
the Grand Canon of Arizona for shipment — Wes- 
ley, you’d just laugh yourself hoarse to hear the 
way those boys go on. Sometimes I don’t know 
what they mean when they get to talking shop; 
you’d think the mountains and valleys and great 
lakes were just bric-a-brac.” 

44 It’s easy to entertain you, Charlie,” smiled Wes- 
ley as if to humor Sparrow’s simplicity. 44 1 guess 
they’ve been stringing you.” 

44 Wesley, do you know who they call the 4 Old 
Lady ’ ? ” Sparrow chuckled. 

44 No, who?” 

44 The Mississippi River ! I used to hear them 
talking about the 4 Old Lady,’ and finally I asked 
them. They never call it anything but just the 
4 Old Lady.’ ” 

There was a moment of silence during which 
Sparrow seemed to hesitate as if not knowing 
whether to say what was in his mind or not. 

44 Do you know, Wesley, I should think you’d 
like a position such as those boys have; you’re tall 
and strong and tough, and you’d get right in touch 
with nature. I believe if I were a boy I couldn’t 
resist it.” 

44 Not for mine!” said Wesley. 44 I’m not go- 
ing to spend my life in a pair of overalls.” 


22 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ You’d get right out in the far west, and it 
would be — ” 

“ It would be a plaguy long ways from Broad- 
way,” Wesley interrupted. 

“ In the old days,” mused Sparrow, “ when a 
boy felt he just had to have adventures, he up and 
ran away from home, but now, I do declare, it 
seems as if Uncle Sam was just waiting to supply 
them. — You’re going to work in the fall, aren’t 
you, Wesley?” 

“ Oh, if anybody offered me a position as presi- 
dent of a bank right now I’d take it. Otherwise 
I’m on the line September first for my little com- 
mutation ticket.” 

“ Just back and forth to the city every day, eh? ” 
Sparrow queried. 

“ Sure. All this talk about ‘ back to nature ’ 
makes me tired. It seems as if these days all you 
have to do is to turn day-laborer to amount to some- 
thing. The way it used to be, a fellow’d leave the 
farm and go to the city to make something of him- 
self. But now they tell the city fellow to get back 
to the farm if he wants to succeed.” 

Sparrow laughed appreciatively. He had quite 
a regard for Wesley’s worldly wisdom. 

“ Not for mine,” Wesley went on. “ Why, I 
can get into an insurance company easy enough and 
they close at four in the afternoon. And the banks 
are better still. Look at Billy Ackerson, he gets 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


23 


twenty plunks a week in the Forbes Perfumery 
Company and Saturday afternoons all the year 
round/’ 

Sparrow smiled. “ Do you believe you could 
get up much enthusiasm for perfumery, Wesley? 
Really, now? All it’s good for is to sprinkle on 
your handkerchief. Is the world any better 
for it? ” 

“ Billy Ackerson is better for it.” 

“ Ha, ha! You’ve always got an answer ready, 
Wesley. — But the work these fellows here are do- 
ing — it’s a great work. You take a man who has 
his dealings with mountains and valleys and 
prairies and great rivers — he gets kind of calm 
and serene like, Wesley. And he measures up. 
Why, when I told Captain Craig I intended to drive 
piles for a boat-house over yonder, what do you 
think he did? He just picked up a rock, looked at 
it and told me, No, that there was nothing but mud 
underneath that kind of rock; why, he can tell you 
the different kinds of soil for fifty yards down — 
it’s just wonderful! You’ve no idea, Wesley, how 
many people — railroad men, mining men, con- 
struction engineers, and people like that — depend 
on the information they get from the Survey De- 
partment. But,” he added, chuckling with boyish 
simplicity, “ I just can’t get over their calling the 
Mississippi River the * Old Lady.’ ” 

Wesley laughed too at the impression which this 


24 


BOY SCOUTS 


band of official wanderers had made upon Spar- 
row’s credulous mind. 

“ Well, there’ll be company enough pretty soon 
now, Charlie, I guess,” he said, rising. “ Don’t 
let the captain string you.” 

“ Come up soon again, Wesley. I see you’ve a 
new canoe.” 

There was a little rueful look, half smile, half 
sneer, on the boy’s face as he sauntered toward the 
float. “ He’s easy, all right ! Huh, Fd like to 
meet that bunch,” he mused. “ They’d have a good 
rurr for their money trying to string me! Fd have 
them guessing. I’d have little old Captain What’s- 
his-name eating out of my hand. It would be my 
deal when it came to fairy-tales, believe me! ” 

At the float he encountered Honor again. 

“ Well, I hear you’ve been having story-telling 
hour up here, Honor ; I’d like to meet that outfit.” 

“ I hope you wouldn’t hurt them,” said she, 
quietly. 

“ They’d have to give me ether to get those ad- 
venture stories down my throat.” 

" Wouldn’t that be too silly ! ” said the girl. 

They stood facing each other for a moment, 
Wesley feeling uneasy as he always did in her pres- 
ence, and the girl apparently hesitating whether to 
speak or not. 

“ Wesley Binford,” she said at last, trying to 
overcome a tremor in her voice, “ there was three 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


25 


dollars you forgot to pay father last fall before the 
season closed; a dollar and a half for canoe hire 
and the rest for other things. He'll never remind 
you about it so I have to. We had a hard time 
getting through the winter up here and — and — 
it can’t be you’ve forgotten it — have you? I 
didn’t hear you say anything about it to father, so 
I felt that I must — must — ask you about it.” 

She could say no more and she waited, blushing 
and uncomfortable. 

It was just because he felt that Honor Sparrow 
had a certain contempt for his fine show of manli- 
ness and worldly experience that Wesley felt he 
must now, at any cost, show her that her opinion 
of him was prejudiced and unfair. He remem- 
bered the three dollars well, and I hope I need not 
tell you that it was his intention to pay it. For 
just a moment he moved nervously from one foot 
to the other and felt hot and uncomfortable around 
his collar. He would not give this girl the satis- 
faction of sneering at him. The incident down at 
the bridge, with its unpleasant epithet, still chafed 
him. He could not bear the gaze of her steadfast, 
questioning eyes. He would show her that she was 
mistaken and' — 

And then Wesley Binford made the mistake of 
his life. 

“ Oh, that’s so,” he said, as if with sudden recol- 
lection. “ Glad you mentioned it, Honor — and I 
owe another nickel now, too; I’d leave my head 


26 


BOY SCOUTS 


lying in that canoe if it wasn’t fastened on,” he 
added, starting toward the boat. 

From the flap pocket of the mackinaw he brought 
forth several bills and some small change. 

“I’m awfully glad you mentioned it, Honor; 
why, do you know, that really was what I came up 
for! All winter, and a measly little three dollars! 
Here,” and he handed her two bills and a nickel. 

This latter she glanced at, then examined more 
closely, and handed back. His manner and his un- 
expected act took her quite by surprise, and she 
seemed more kindly disposed toward him as she 
said, 

“ I guess you didn’t mean to give me this one, 
Wesley; it says Republica de Panama on it.” 

The boy felt himself blushing and he gulped 
nervously as he took the coin. 

“ Sure enough,” said he ; “ that’s my — my — 
old reliable pocket-piece.” And he handed her an- 
other coin in its stead. 

“ Good-by, Honor.” 

“ Good-by,” she said, watching him, just a trifle 
puzzled at his manner. 

Wesley got into the canoe with a fine air of non- 
chalance. But the paddle was not steady in his 
hand. He ran the canoe clumsily into a skiff near 
by, extricated himself with an exclamation of an- 
noyance, and started to paddle down the river on 
the ebbing tide. He was very nervous and agi- 
tated. 


CHAPTER IV 


WESLEY BINFORD HAS HIS WISH 

Yet there was nothing, he reflected, to be nerv- 
ous and agitated about. And he was quite impa- 
tient with himself that he should give way to this 
strange uneasiness over nothing. So with a fine 
air of unconcern, he plunged his paddle vigorously, 
as if to have done with all such nonsense. Of 
course, he told himself, it wasn’t as if he intended 
to- — he didn’t finish the sentence, the thought was 
so absurd. If he had allowed himself to finish, he 
would have found himself using a word he did not 
like, and which — which had no connection with 
him at all. Wesley never liked to confront things, 
or even thoughts, that were troublesome and un- 
pleasant. 

He was not in any trouble, he assured himself. 
His course was perfectly plain. In two hours 
everything would be all right, and then — then he 
would never again let a snip of a girl cause him to 
do anything that was • — foolish. That was just 
the word — foolish. He would be in Oakwood by 
two o’clock. After he had put the canoe in locker 
27 


28 


BOY SCOUTS 


53 he would go home, get his bicycle, and ride it 
up to Billy Ackerson’s. Billy was going to buy the 
bicycle this very day. He had said he would have 
the money on Saturday, and he always came out 
on the 3:10 train. The scouts wouldn’t be home 
till the 5 :io train. 

You see how nicely everything was going to come 
together. 

Again he roused himself and gave his little, 
sneering chuckle. 

“ Huh, I’d like to meet them,” he mused, think- 
ing of his talk with Sparrow. “ I know that cow- 
boy brand, all right. They’ve got Charlie hypno- 
tized, that’s one sure thing. If they handed me 
any of those Hans Christian Andersen wonders, it 
would be a case of ‘ ring off, you’ve got the wrong 
number, boy,’ believe me! ” 

He had just rounded the upper bend into the 
quiet shade of “ Perch Hole ” where the pungent 
odor of damp wood and rotting foliage seemed to 
emphasize the solitude. On one side the trees 
crowded down to the water’s edge and here and 
there among them stood dead trunks, white and con- 
spicuous. On the other shore the trees were more 
sparse, and through them one could see, beyond the 
fields, the state road running along its high em- 
bankment. 

Wesley paused, letting the water drip from his 
paddle and listening to it idly. Then a faint chug- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


29 


ging caught his ear and he listened intently. About 
him all was very still ; there were no other loiterers. 
Now the chugging seemed near, now far, now died 
altogether, and then he heard it again, confused 
with its own echoes. The river was so winding 
that an approaching boat might be very near and 
yet have to pass away again following the bend of 
the stream. Of a sudden Wesley espied a motor- 
cycle speeding along the distant road and decided 
that from this came the sound he had heard. 

“ If I had two hundred dollars,” he mused, 
“ I’d — ” 

But suddenly the long cry of a siren sounded 
close upon him, he heard voices which seemed 
strangely clear, and he paddled furiously out of the 
channel to escape a good-sized launch which came 
darting around the bend. As it passed, his quick 
glance caught only a suggestion of white hull, a 
large highly-polished brass searchlight and a Rough 
Rider hat. 

He was nearing the wooded shore when he felt 
a quick jar, there was a sound of scraping, then of 
ripping, the canoe jerked, heeled over, and Wesley 
was aware of the water pouring through a great 
jagged rent in its frail side. It had been simply 
torn open, several of its ribs wrenched out of place 
and a big, gnarled, slimy piece of wood with a 
great spike in its end was projecting through the 
side. Then, all in an instant, the boat filled and 


30 


BOY SCOUTS 


Wesley was floundering in the water. All that was 
visible of the craft was its mahogany gunwale 
which became instantly submerged as he grasped 
it. His feet groped frantically and finding no foot- 
hold, he became panicky. Again and again he 
grasped the rail of the canoe, only to go down with 
it as it rolled over. Once his foot rested on some 
slimy object, but slid off. In terror he tried to 
grasp the high curving end of the ruined craft, but 
it gave gently, and he went down, down, then 
presently rose again sputtering and shrieking des- 
perately. 

“ Hold on to the canoe! ” he heard some one call. 

“ I — I — can’t,” he spluttered. “ Help — help 
— I’m—” 

“ Hold on to the canoe, and keep your mouth 
shut ! ” the voice insisted. “ I’m not going to bend 
my shaft in all that trash ! ” 

“I — I — it goes under,” Wesley yelled. 
“ I’m — ” 

“What of it?” said the voice, sternly. “Hold 
on and keep your mouth shut, and don’t be a 
baby!” 

He held fast and felt himself dragged briskly 
through the water. The next thing he realized he 
was pulled, shivering and sputtering, into a launch 
where a young fellow was unlashing a boat-hook 
from the end of a long rod with a scale printed 
on it. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3i 


“ Hold her there a minute, Bobby/’ said a man. 
“ Huh,” he added as he examined the submerged 
canoe, “ torn like a paper bag. ’Fraid she’s done 
for. Good frame, too. She’ll lodge in those 
bushes over there and you can get her — she won’t 
sink. What’d you want to run in there for ? ” 

It seemed to Wesley that a fellow who had been 
all but drowned should have a little more sympathy 
and attention. But, on the contrary, this man 
showed not the least symptom of excitement. He 
was distressingly calm and matter-of-fact. And 
Wesley had a misgiving that the man was not alto- 
gether favorably impressed with him. 

“ How did I know what was in there ? ” he an- 
swered, petulantly. “ I’m not a mind reader.” 

“ You saw there were dead trees and part of an 
old float on shore, didn’t you? You might have 
known that where there are dead trees on shore, 
there are dead ones under the water. Where were 
your eyes ? What’s the matter, can’t you swim ? ” 
“N-not for — I haven’t swam for — ” 

“ You never forget how to swim,” the man in- 
terrupted crisply. “ Guess you never learned, eh? ” 
He did not seem at all annoyed at Wesley’s weak 
attempt to deceive him. But he clipped the decep- 
tion off as one clips a wire with a pair of nippers. 

Wesley was about to make a sarcastic reply, but 
the clear brown eyes that were looking straight at 
him abashed him and he refrained. He was not 
going to let the man off too easily, however. 


32 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ I suppose that’s what you call deduction,” he 
said, with as much of a sneer as he dared display. 

“ What?” 

“ That about the trees.” 

“ No, that’s just plain horse sense,” said the man 
quietly. “You cold?” he added, seeing Wesley 
shiver. 

“ I’m getting pneumonia by the minute, be- 
lieve me.” 

“Oh, no, you’re not; take off your shoes; you 
don’t get cold as long as your feet are bare. Take 
off your coat, too, the sun’ll dry you out. — Pull 
that clutch over, will you, Bobby? And you take 
the wheel, Mack.” 

The launch started downstream, the man, appar- 
ently oblivious of Wesley’s presence, busying him- 
self with the engine. He turned one of the grease 
cups, then another, filled the oil cup, adjusted it, 
watched it a minute, turned the cock in the muffler 
to see if she was pumping, oiled the pump eccen- 
tric, and then stood, watching her and listening in 
a knowing, inquisitive way to the explosions. 

“ Little more gas? ” he queried of the young man 
who was steering. 

“ No, I don’t think so,” said Mack; “better turn 
off that cup, hadn’t you?” he added, looking back 
along the outside of the boat. “ She’s smoking 
like blazes.” 

“ Guess you’re right,” said the man. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


33 

He shut off the oil cup and still stood watching 
the mechanism. 

The young fellow called Bobby perched himself 
on the after-deck and began to play a harmonica. 
Mack, at the wheel, kept his gaze ahead. The un- 
expected guest could not help feeling that he was 
not at all the hero of the occasion. Not only was 
he denied the sympathetic attention that he felt he 
was entitled to, but no one seemed disposed to no- 
tice him at all. 

So he fell into a kind of sullen observation of his 
rescuers. The man, who was stocky in build, wore 
a khaki suit and a Rough Rider hat with the brim 
turned up in front, and a lead pencil stuck in its 
cord. He was perhaps thirty-five years old, his 
face was tanned almost to the hue of a mulatto 
and he had a short mustache, black as ebony. 
Through his rimless glasses looked a pair of calm, 
clear, brown eyes which, somehow, were very dis- 
concerting to Wesley, and he had a way of speak- 
ing in a crisp, clear-cut manner and listening for 
an answer as if he expected it to be prompt, concise 
and explicit. He seemed agreeable enough but this 
cheerful definiteness and alertness in his manner 
confounded any attempt at deception. Wesley felt 
that if he were going to say anything he had best 
think it out beforehand and get it just right. 

The two young men, who were dressed in khaki 
trousers and flannel shirts, did not seem to stand 


34 


BOY SCOUTS 


at all in awe of the man and, though always respect- 
ful, laughed at him uproariously at times, particu- 
larly Bobby who positively declined to accept any 
of his opinions regarding the management of the 
engine. There was a tent stowed aboard, two or 
three duffel bags, a surveyor’s transit, rods, chain 
and various odds and ends incidental to roughing 
it and camp life. They seemed to Wesley a care- 
free, happy trio, making game of each other’s 
foibles, the man being a sort of incongruous com- 
bination of a scholar, a scientist and a tramp. 

After a few minutes the man sat down beside 
Wesley. 

“ Trouble with these ‘ make-and-break ’ engines 
is your contact points wear out without your know- 
ing it,” he said. Wesley stared. The man re- 
moved his glasses carefully with the thumb and 
finger of each hand, held them up to the light and 
replaced them accurately on his nose. Then he 
nodded amusedly toward Bob and winked at Wes- 
ley. 

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he said, referring to the 
harmonica. “ We’d get rid of him if it wasn’t for 
Civil Service.” 

“ Who’d cook your supper for you then ? ” 
queried Bobby, “ and your surpassing coffee ? ” 

“ Well, we’re going to break up and board a 
while, anyway,” said Mack, at the wheel. 

“ Well, we get pretty good 4 eats ’ on the R.S.,” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


35 


answered Bobby, removing his harmonica to speak. 

“ Look at the appropriations they get,” said 
Mack ; “ even Bull Hungerford was satisfied.” 

“ Was he with them? ” 

“ Sure — he went all the way down the Colorado 
with them last summer — he and Rinkey Brown; 
they were using Dill pickles for plumb-bobs.” 

“ Do tell!” said Bobby. 

“ And bags of oatmeal for a bankhead revetment 
down the Columbia. They used a sack of dried 
apricots in a levee leak — it swelled right up and 
filled the hole fine. — They have a regular cook in 
the R.S ” 

“ That is, a real cook, a good one,” observed the 
man, winking at Wesley again. 

“They lined up the whole north quadrangle of 
the Yellowstone with strings of spaghetti,” con- 
tinued Mack. “ Oh, they live high in the R.S. ! ” 

“ But no music,” said the man, slyly. 

“No, thank goodness for that!” said Mack. 
“ When are we going to get started, Captain ? ” 

“ Monday night.” 

“We going to stop off at Washington, Cap- 
tain ? ” asked Bobby, with affected innocence. 
Mack looked around, laughing. 

“We are not ” said the Captain, crisply. 

“ Oh, we’d better stop in Washington, hadn’t 
we?” Bobby persisted, with a twinkle in his eye. 

“We wouldn’t be delayed more than a month 
or so,” said Mack. 


36 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Just till Senator Flumdum gets over his attack 
of the pip.” 

“ It would be such fun sitting around waiting 
for Secretary — ” 

“We will make a long detour around Washing- 
ton,” said the Captain. 

Wesley could not help laughing in spite of him- 
self. He was in no mood for laughter, to be sure, 
and when he thought of his return to Oakwood he 
was, as he might well have been, nervous and trou- 
bled. For a few minutes he had almost forgotten 
his trouble in listening to the banter of this appar- 
ently happy-go-lucky band. He knew well enough 
who they were, but he had lost all desire to “ take 
them down ” now. He wished that he had as lit- 
tle to worry his mind as they had. And even had 
he felt disposed to match himself against them, the 
captain, he felt, would prove more than his equal 
and simply make him ridiculous. All his fine 
bravado was gone now, and instead he confronted 
his shameful home-coming. What should he say 
about the canoe? And where was the mackinaw 
jacket? In the canoe, no doubt, and securely but- 
toned into its flap pocket was just three dollars and 
five cents less than should be there. Of course, it 
would be found and everything would be discov- 
ered. No doubt, Honor Sparrow would mention 
that he had handed her a Panamanian coin. He 
had not thought of that before. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


37 

“ Pm in bad,’’ he said to himself ; “ I don’t know 
what in thunder to do now ! ” 

He was surprised and angry that an act in which 
his intentions were perfectly honorable should leave 
him in such a predicament. Besides (though this 
seemed but a trifling matter now), he had an un- 
comfortable feeling of being inferior to these fel- 
lows in the launch. They knew that he could not 
swim, he felt that they attributed his accident to 
ignorance or bad judgment, and he had not been 
able to offer so much as a comment when the man 
had made a casual remark about a well-known fea- 
ture of a common, everyday gas engine. How 
readily Arnold would have fallen into discussion 
of such a thing. The captain had seemed to as- 
sume that he would know something about gas en- 
gines. 

Yet, uncomfortable as he was, he wished that 
the launch would go slower. He did not want to 
reach Oakwood till he had time to think. He 
wished now that he had tried to rescue the tell- 
tale jacket. Suddenly the shrill whistle of a dis- 
tant train caught his ear and he fancied that the 
scouts might be coming home before he had a 
chance to — 

To what? He had no plan now. 

He listened abstractedly to the bantering shop- 
talk of his companions. Mack, at the wheel, was 
singing, and Wesley envied him that he felt in the 
mood to sing. 


38 


BOY SCOUTS 


“Little bits of red tape, 

Little drops of ink, 

Knock our work all endways — 

Put it on the blink.” 

“ I should think you’d like to go to Washington,” 
Wesley said after a while, feeling that he ought to 
say something. 

“So we do,” said Bob. “We just love it; it’s 
as good as a three-ring circus. Did you hear about 
that congressman saying he’d never heard of white 
coal ? ” he added, calling to Mack ; “ wanted to see 
a piece.” 

This produced great laughter. 

“ What is white coal?” Wesley ventured. 

“ Just water,” said the Captain. 

“ There’s a way to get past Washington,” said 
Mack. 

“ I’ve never heard of it,” said the Captain in his 
crisp, choppy way. 

“ In an aeroplane.” 

“ I don’t believe there’s any call for rush anyway, 
Captain,” said Mack. “ It’s probably just like it 
was last year in Arizona. Soon as the wild water 
starts they go up in the air and have to have a stor- 
age survey. They can’t do anything now; they’ll 
just have to leave it to the levees. If it lights in 
below Cairo, it’ll be all right.” 

“ Well, we’ve got those Dakota quadrangles to 
line up, anyway,” said the Captain. “ We might as 
well kill two birds with one stone.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


39 


“ Yes, but they’re always shrieking, * Help, 
help ! ’ ” said Bob. “ Congress ought to vote a 
rattle or a bottle of milk or something to keep them 
quiet.” 

“ They’ve got a company of infantry now,” said 
Mack. 

“ And a cook,” observed the Captain tersely. 

“ Oh, very well, Captain Craig,” said Bob, with 
an assumption of girlish offense. “ I shall remem- 
ber this.” 

The boathouse was now in sight, and never had 
it looked less welcome to Wesley. As they neared 
it he scanned the lawn and floats anxiously to see 
if any one was about, but the place seemed deserted. 

“ You boys better take in a show to-night,” said 
the captain, “ and if I don’t see you again, get over 
to the Island by ten on Monday sure.” 

“ Obedience to superiors,” said Bob, apparently 
quoting, “ is the keystone of success in the service. 
We will take in the show, Captain.” 

The captain laughed and looked at Wesley. 

“ You get out here? ” 

For a moment Wesley did not answer. Bob, 
overhearing the Captain’s query, reached out for the 
clutch. 

As far as Wesley had any plan at all it was to 
go straight home, wait till his father arrived from 
the city, and make a clean breast of everything. 
But now, suddenly, it came jumping into his head 


40 


BOY SCOUTS 


that a better plan might be to go on down to the 
city, wait at the station for his father and come 
out with him. That would give him a chance to 
talk on the train. Best of all, it would enable him 
to postpone doing anything for a while, to put off 
the evil moment. For uppermost in his mind was 
his disinclination to land at Oakwood. 

“Get out here?” the Captain repeated. 

“ N-no,” said Wesley. 

The Captain raised his eyes in surprise. “ Noth- 
ing but marshes and brick-yards below here, is 
there?” 

“I — I’ll go right down to the city — if you 
don’t mind.” 

“Mind? No, indeed,” he said pleasantly, but 
looking at the boy sharply. “ Did you paddle all 
the way up from the city? That was some pad- 
dle.” 

“ It’s where I be — it’s where I’m going,” said 
Wesley. 

“ False alarm, Captain? ” called Bobby, still hold- 
ing the clutch. 

“ False alarm, Bobby.” 

And Bobby, settling himself again upon the en- 
gine-locker, replaced the harmonica at his lips and 
completely enveloping it from view with both hands, 
began a lively rendering, with startling trills and 
variations, of “ I’m Afraid to go Home in the 
Dark.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


4i 


Wesley looked at him anxiously for a moment but 
seeing nothing in the least significant in Bobby’s 
guileless countenance, decided that the tune had 
been selected by mere chance. 


CHAPTER V 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

The hurrying throng which surged through the 
gates to the waiting suburban trains that Saturday 
evening did not notice the tall boy who stood apart 
from the bundle-laden procession, waiting. Now 
and again, he glanced wistfully toward some little 
straggling group which, rushing pell-mell in his di- 
rection, heralded the arrival of another boat-load 
of commuters from the great metropolis. Crowd 
followed upon crowd and all were talking, laughing 
and pushing one another in good-natured haste. 
There seemed a kind of week-end good fellowship 
among them, and a care-free spirit, with the one 
dominating thought — to get home. 

The boy was conscious of a little feeling of envy. 
He realized that his trip home would not be of the 
pleasantest. He must tell his father of the ruin 
of a canoe worth fifty dollars and of his having 
used three dollars and five cents which did not be- 
long to him. He suspected that his father would 
not understand his coming all the way to the city 
when he could have waited at home with this un- 
42 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


43 


pleasant news, for in his heart he knew that he 
had done so simply from a weak dread of landing 
at Oakwood. The launch had set him ashore at 
a nearby wharf and gone chugging merrily off 
down the bay. 

For the first half hour of waiting he was glad 
that his father did not come; he experienced a cer- 
tain sense of relief as each throng of ferry arrivals 
passed and as he heard the first train for Oakwood 
starting. Wesley had never found it easy to make 
a confidant of his father (perhaps he was not en- 
tirely to blame for that), and he was wondering 
now how he should begin, what he should say, and 
how it would be received. He dreaded the ordeal. 
If he had had a mother, I dare say he would have 
gone straight home and found a loving ally in his 
trouble, who would have smoothed the path and 
made it easy for him. But he had a step-mother, 
and however much she may have deserved the boy’s 
affection and respect, there was not much confidence 
between them. He thought of his own mother 
now; she would have understood, he felt sure; and 
it needed only this thought of the woman who had 
been so much his sympathizer and his friend but 
two short years before, to increase his nervousness 
and cause him to lose his grip upon himself. 

There was a hot film before his eyes as he 
glanced up at the station clock and saw that the last 
of the early evening trains would leave in three min- 


44 


BOY SCOUTS 


utes. Presently, he heard the metallic rattle of the 
mooring-wheel which told that another boat was 
in the slip. Then the crowds came hurrying, hel- 
ter-skelter, for the train, and the boy tried to master 
his weakness and stood erect and manly, waiting 
for his father. 

The crowd thinned out to a few stragglers and 
still Wesley’s father had not come. Last of all 
there came a group of boys and a man who said, 
“ Take your time, take your time, we’ve got a whole 
minute,” and Wesley, startled at the voice, edged 
himself behind a laden baggage truck. All of the 
boys but one wore scout regalia. This one, who 
walked with the man, was tall and slim, with reg- 
ular features and large, gray eyes. He was trying 
as he walked to balance on end a pole four or five 
feet long with canvas wrapped around it. The 
whimsical earnestness which he gave to this attempt 
seemed to amuse the man and provoked satirical 
comments generally. But a rebellious lock of wavy 
hair which fell over the boy’s face proved his 
Waterloo, for in a quick, jerky attempt to brush it 
back, the pole fell to the ground. 

“ You big kid! ” laughed one of the group. 

“ You want to paint that mast red so it’ll match 
the canoe, Harry,” observed a small boy. 

“ That wouldn’t be much of a matchness,” re- 
plied the one addressed. “ The canoe is vermilion, 
if anybody should ask you. The next shade to ver- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


45 

milion is verbillion; you learn that in the third 
grade.” 

“ Yes,” retorted the small boy; “ and I know who 
told you to paint it vermilion, too ; and you trotted 
right off like a good little china doll and did it, 
didn’t you! It was Marjorie Danforth, and you’re 
going to take her out canoeing to-night if there’s a 
moon! Y-e-e-s!” 

The man cast an amused look at the tall boy to 
see how he would take this. Then he winked at 
the speaker. In another moment they had all 
passed through the gate and disappeared. 

To Wesley it had been but a brief, passing pic- 
ture, but he emerged sick at heart. Whatever reso- 
lution he may have mustered was gone. To think 
of Arnold buying a mast and sail for a canoe which 
was ruined! And he expected to use it this very 
night! Then suddenly, Wesley realized what it 
meant to have missed his father. Well, in any 
event, he could do nothing here, so he started across 
toward the boat, but was roughly stopped by a guard 
who told him that if he wished to cross the ferry 
he must go through the waiting-room and buy a 
ticket. With a hope born of despair, he searched 
his pockets, but found not a cent. Yet there was 
but one thing to do now and that was to get across 
to the city where he had at least one friend, a fel- 
low who used to live in Oakwood. There he could 
borrow money enough to go home on the one re- 
maining train at midnight. 


46 


BOY SCOUTS 


A little troubled smile, rather of nervousness 
than of mirth, hovered on the boy’s lips as he wan- 
dered out of the station and along a neighboring 
wharf. It was almost dark but at the end of the 
wharf he saw a tug-boat and by it stood a very 
stout man in his shirt sleeves, smoking a pipe. 

“ Hello,” said Wesley. 

“ How do, sonny,” said the man. 

“ You’re not going across — soon — I suppose 

— are you?” Wesley ventured anxiously. 

“ ’Bout one minute, if you call that soon.” 

" Would you — could you — take me over ? ” 

“ I sure could ; hop on. What’s trouble, sonny 

— you cleaned out ? ” 

“ Not ex — well, I — want to economize,” said 
Wesley. 

“ Well, now, you let me tell you, Noo York is a 
mighty poor place to go to if you want to economize, 
and you can take that with no extra charge from 
your Uncle Dudley. — Come up in the wheel-house 
where it’s clean.” 

They were soon plowing out into mid-stream. 

“ I’ll have to take you down far as Pier 8, but 
you won’t mind a little trot back, with a good long 
pair o’ legs like them. As the feller says, don’t 
make no difference where you set me off so long as 
it’s on terra cotta.” 

“ That’s the idea,” said Wesley, absently. “ Do 
you live right on board here ? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


47 

“ Correct,” he said, looking straight ahead 
through the glass window. 

Wesley liked the burly, hearty man. His talk 
made the boy forget his predicament for the few 
minutes it took them to cross the river. He, too, 
seemed to lead a care-free, gypsy kind of life, and 
Wesley felt that he would like to have a tug-boat 
for his home. There was a smell of oil and tarry 
rope about it that he liked. 

He remembered the address of the apartment 
where his erstwhile friend lived and to this refuge 
he now looked as a shipwrecked mariner to his life- 
belt. At the house, the hall-boy told him that the 
family had moved away, out of town, he did not 
know where. It was the last straw, and at the 
matter-of-fact announcement which meant so little 
to the boy and so much to Wesley, he all but col- 
lapsed. 

He had had a long tramp uptown and he was 
tired, utterly fagged out, so that it seemed he could 
not go another step. Troubled as he was, he felt 
that he could throw himself down on the deep, in- 
viting leather settee in the apartment lobby and 
sleep for a week. For a moment he looked at it 
wistfully, then went out and down the crowded 
thoroughfare. 

It was close upon midnight when he found him- 
self again in the dark, unfrequented lower part of 
town, trudging through streets of warehouses, 


48 


BOY SCOUTS 


where barrels stood about and there was the odor 
of rotting fruit. Once, he noticed some one lying 
in a doorway sound asleep. 

“ I can do that if I have to,” he said. 

He was so weary, so utterly exhausted, that he 
had to pause now and then and raise one foot to 
give it momentary rest. But there was one good 
thing, his bodily fatigue obliterated his mental 
trouble for the time. He came to Pier 8 and 
dragged himself along it to where the tug lay 
moored. Up in the wheel-house he could see his 
stout friend reading a newspaper, holding it in the 
glare of a cabin lamp. He was very conspicuous 
in his lighted enclosure, with silence and darkness 
all about. Wesley went aboard and up the ladder. 
He hesitated a moment, then opened the door and, 
leaning against the jamb, smiled a tired, almost 
ghastly, smile at the man’s surprise. 

“ Here I am back again, like — like a bad penny,” 
he said, with a pitiful note of entreaty in his voice. 
“If you can’t let me stay here till morning, I won’t 
have any place to stay.” 

“ Stay ? ’Course you can stay. Set down. 
That ain’t been troublin’ yer, has it? I was kind 
o’ puzzled when I set yer ashore, but says I, that 
kid’s going home and he’ll be all right when he gets 
there. If I hadn’t thought that, I wouldn’t a’ let 
yer go ashore cleaned out, any more’n I would my 
own son. But it tickled me when you started fer 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


49 


to come across to Noo York to economize. Lord! 
I’d as soon think o’ goin’ to the North Pole to pick 
wild flowers ! Glad you come back ! ” 

“ I walked up to One Hundred and Thirtieth 
Street and back; friends I know had moved away.” 

“ So yer thought o’ me, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, I — I kind of liked you,” he blurted out. 

“ Well, that’s right,” said the man, approvingly. 
" What’s matter?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — I guess I’m just tired.” 

The man watched him closely for a moment while 
Wesley tried to control himself. 

“ D’yer stop anywheres goin’ up-town or cornin’ 
down ? ” 

“ No.” 

The man left the wheel-house. Presently, a 
voice assailed Wesley’s ears from somewhere below. 

“ Yer have yer eggs turned over? ” 

It was Sunday afternoon when Wesley awoke, 
and that night also he remained on the hospitable 
tug, somewhat of a mystery to its jovial captain. 
Seeing that the boy was preoccupied, he tried to 
draw him out, but his friendly efforts in that direc- 
tion were fruitless. Through the dense fog of his 
tobacco-pipe, he observed the boy’s wistful look and 
wondered what was passing in his mind. For a 
full two hours before dark, Wesley sat curled up 
on the old leather settee in the wheel-house, ab- 


50 


BOY SCOUTS 


sorbed in a book of harbor charts with a lengthy 
introduction about salvage, wrecking work, and so 
forth. 

“ Guess you don’t find that much like a Wild 
West story, eh?” his host ventured. 

“ I don’t care for Wild West stories,” said Wes- 
ley ; “ how do they make these soundings ? They 
have to go right on the dangerous places, don’t 
they ? ” 

“ Well, now,” Captain Brocker drawled, “ the 
folks that make life easy and safe for the rest of 
us, they have a pretty tough job of it, first and last, 
you may lay to that, sonny. And they’re the fel- 
lows that don’t get their names in the papers, 
neither. And they don’t get paid neither, ’cause the 
world hasn’t got money enough to pay ’em ! ” 

He went down the ladder and Wesley, drawing 
his knees up and clasping his hands about them, 
looked out through the gathering darkness across 
the harbor. Thus the captain found him half an 
hour later when he came up to light the lamp. 

“ You dreamin’ ’bout goin’ to sea?” he queried, 
good-naturedly. 

“ No, just looking out of the window.” 

“ Now, look here, sonny, you sure o’ bein’ able 
to find your father here in the city to-morrer? 
’Cause — ” 

“Yes, I wasn’t thinking about that. — What’s 
that light, Captain Brocker ? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


5i 


The man crossed the little room, placed his hand 
on Wesley’s shoulder and stooping, looked off to 
where a certain small light shone across the water. 

“ That one over there?” he asked, cheerily; 
“ why, Lord bless you, that’s your old Uncle Sam- 
uel watchin’ at the door — old Rough-and-Ready, 
I call him. He trudges round whilst me and you 
are asleep, that old feller, and some way it kind of 
cheers me up to see his light.” 

“ You mean Governor’s Island? ” 

“ There you are — right the first time ! ” the cap- 
tain said, pounding Wesley’s shoulder as if to cheer 
him with his own contagious heartiness ; “ or Spot- 
less Town, as the feller says. Well, he’s good com- 
pany, no matter where you find him, and that’s a 
fact. It’s pretty hard to say what he isn’t up to 
these days. Here I was readin’ the other night o’ 
the jinks he’s cuttin’ up out in Dakoty and Mon- 
tanny, alterin’ rivers over to suit himself. Now 
you let that old duffer — ” 

“ Uncle Sam?” 

“ That’s him — you let that old dufifer write a 
letter to Germany or any o’ them foreign countries, 
or bust up some trust or other, and the whole world 
hears about it. But I tell you , what that old man 
can do with his hands and feet and a pick-ax and 
a tape-measure, has got me. An’ him over a hun- 
dred years old! He’s got some o’ them western 
rivers guessin’, and them bad lands, too; just gives 


52 


BOY SCOUTS 


’em a drink o’ water and makes ’em brace up. I 
tell you what, boy, it’s what he does with his hands 
and feet that’s got me ! ” 

He sat down and lighting his pipe, proceeded to 
write up a greasy little memorandum book which 
seemed ridiculously out of proportion to the size 
of its owner. 

“ They’ve got some o’ them geologist fellers over 
there, I guess. They was measurin’ up the Passaic 
River, and then later they was up the Hudson — < 
far as Sing Sing, I heard. — Well,” he added, 
thumbing his little book, “ a good many of us ought 
to be up that far, I guess.” 

“Why?” asked Wesley, turning quickly. 

“ Oh, not you, bless your soul ! ” laughed Captain 
Brocker. “ Let’s see, how old d’you say you was ? ” 

“ Eighteen. — Do you think, Captain Brocker, 
that it’s better to work with your hands and feet 
than with your brain? ” 

“ Well, sonny, I wouldn’t just say that, but every- 
body’s better for havin’ some work to do with his 
hands and feet — as the feller says.” 

“ What fellow?” 

“ Oh, that’s just a way o’ speaking. But you 
can make a note o’ this, that the greatest man that 
ever came ashore on this here continent is always 
chorin’ round and workin’ with his hands and feet 
— and that’s — ” 

“Uncle Sam?” laughed Wesley. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


53 

“ Right, the second time — and it’s good to hear 
you laugh.” 

“ IPs good to hear you talk, Captain Brocker.” 


CHAPTER VI 


ON THE SUBJECT OF FIGHTING 

All night long the light gleamed across the water 
and in the troubled intervals of sleep Wesley would 
single it out from the others and watch it as if it 
had some special lure for him. Once he fell to 
wondering how men made soundings on the ocean, 
and again, whether people really jumped from cliffs 
and were thrown from runaway horses just to make 
motion-pictures. He smiled at the mind’s-eye pic- 
ture of Uncle Sam lifting his red, white and blue 
coat-tails to pull a tape-measure out of his back 
pocket. Then he wondered how Captain Brocker 
could see to steer with such clouds of tobacco smoke 
in front of him. Then he fell to thinking of Oak- 
wood, and of Sparrow, and of — of what he should 
do when the broad, practical daylight of Monday 
morning stared him in the face. 

At lapt the day came, the strenuous, busy day, 
and with it the crowds surging across the neighbor- 
ing ferry. Everybody seemed so alive, so purpose- 
ful! 

The boy hurried along with the surging multi- 
tude, to go to his father’s office. What else was 
54 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


55 


there to do? He realized what a bungle he had 
made of this whole business. The longer he 
waited, the harder it was. And now he had got 
himself into a position where he felt something like 
a fugitive. He did not like that feeling. He 
would put the whole matter in his father’s hands 
at once, face the music, and have done with it. At 
least, there would be no more bungling. 

He wished that his father had not talked so 
much lately of the need of economy. He had de- 
cided not to have the lawn graded because it would 
cost fifty dollars. Wesley thought wistfully how 
much easier would be this unpleasant task if his 
father were more like Sparrow, or Captain Brocker. 
He had said many times that he never wanted to 
work for his father. 

When he came to the building, instead of going 
up in the elevator, he walked the entire eight flights, 
taking his time at it, pausing on the landings and 
looking from the windows. When at last he tried 
the door of his father’s office it was locked. He 
was surprised at that, but a little relieved as well, 
for it gave him a little more time. Down on the 
main floor he accosted the elevator starter. 

“Hasn’t Mr. Binford come in yet?” 

“ He’s out of town ; went away Saturday morn- 
ing.” 

“ W- where, do you know?” gasped Wesley. 

“ South, I think ; guess the stenographer’s up 
there.” 


BOY SCOUTS 


56 


Wesley walked out into the street again. He did 
not know whether he was glad or sorry. The feel- 
ing that he was immediately conscious of was that 
of relief. He thrust his hands down into his empty 
pockets. He would have to straighten out this tan- 
gle himself now. What should he do? Where 
should he go? He drew a long, nervous breath 
and, walking to the corner, stood there while hurry- 
ing men and women brushed by, indifferent to every- 
thing except his own troubled thoughts. 

And whenever I think of Wesley Bin ford now, 
knowing the rest of the story as I do, I like to think 
of him as he stood there alone on a corner in the 
great city that Monday morning with that weight 
upon his mind and not a cent in his pockets ; alone, 
save for a haunting conscience and the memory of 
an unfortunate episode which he himself had made 
the worse by weakness and procrastination. What 
to do? Where to go? Well, in any event, be his 
decision wise or foolish, good or bad, it would at 
least be his own. His own conceit, his own silly 
pride, his own swaggering affectation had dragged 
him into dishonesty and humiliation and brought 
him here to the parting of the ways, where he must 
act and act quickly, and be the master of his own 
destiny. 

A thought which had been lurking in his mind 
all night, but which he had put aside to go and see 
his father, suddenly asserted itself and inspired him 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


57 


with cheerfulness and hope and resolution. He 
would do three things, but the second and third 
would depend upon the first. Under the spell of 
his new purpose, he laughed outright at a certain 
whimsical thought which came into his mind. 

“ Couldn’t find my father,” he said ; “ now for a 
call on my uncle.” 

But the merry laugh was only momentary, for 
he was still nervous and doubtful and apprehensive. 

Captain Ellsworth Burton Craig, army engineer, 
field geographer, forestry specialist, hydraulic ex- 
pert, and a few other things, sat at a well-worn table 
in a secluded corner of the officers’ quarters at Gov- 
ernor’s Island, New York. The surroundings were 
immaculate, but no more immaculate than Captain 
Ellsworth Burton Craig. His greenish khaki suit 
fitted his trim, clean-cut figure to perfection, and the 
only suggestion of a break in the precision and or- 
derliness of his apparel was that the khaki belt 
which ran through vertical khaki plaits was not but- 
toned in front, its ends hanging, or rather standing, 
loose. It gave the one attractive touch of careless- 
ness to his attire which certain young gentlemen 
of my acquaintance seek to effect by studiously leav- 
ing the lower waistcoat button unfastened. But 
this was the funny thing, that Captain Craig’s man- 
ner and mind had the same suggestion of being 
trim, immaculate and clean-cut, with just that one 


58 


BOY SCOUTS 


little dab of attractive offhandedness which made his 
strictest orders, his severest reprimands, palatable. 

If you could have seen him place his finger-ends 
on the edges of those neat little rimless glasses, re- 
move them, hold them up to the light and then re- 
place them, you would never have supposed that 
he had any relation at all to those terrific forest 
rangers whom we read about. I suppose that, first 
and last, Bobby Cullen knew him as well as any 
one, and once when they were stalled in Washing- 
ton, Bobby told the boys over in the Department of 
Agriculture that not in three years had the captain’s 
fingers ever touched the flat side of those precious 
lenses. Of course, I am not going to ask you to 
swallow everything that Bobby Cullen says, but he 
undoubtedly had the captain down to a T. He had 
“lined up” the Yukon with him up in Alaska; he 
had helped him on the irrigation system in New 
Mexico ; he had revetted the Upper Mississippi with 
him and surveyed all the quadrangles north of 48° 
from the Pacific to the Rockies. Sometimes the 
Forestry people got their covetous hands on the 
captain, sometimes it was the “ R.S.” (for you must 
know that the Geological Survey is everybody’s 
friend) ; and wherever the captain went, and for 
whatever exercise of his versatile talents, there also 
went Bobby Cullen, with his harmonica — like Good 
Man Friday. 

On a big map before the captain lay a telegram 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


59 


which he had just read with great annoyance, for 
it told him to send MacConnell (otherwise Mack) 
to Washington at once for — for something or 
other, the captain did not care much what. He had 
a sovereign contempt for Washington, he knew 
that, and their reasons were nothing to him. Once 
in a while they managed to lasso him on the run and 
march him before a Senate or House committee to 
enlighten them as to some enterprise or proposed 
expenditure, and it was as good as a three-ring cir- 
cus to hear the crisp, funny answers that he gave 
them, and see the fidgety way in which he would 
seem to count these precious minutes. Bobby Cul- 
len always got up in the gallery on these occasions 
— but he kept his harmonica in his pocket. 

The captain glanced out over the well-kept lawn 
and noticed a few stragglers who were coming up 
the gravel walk. Evidently, Uncle Sam’s little 
steamer was in. There were some soldiers back 
from leave, an officer or two, a little group of sight- 
seers, and a tall young fellow of about eighteen, 
who came along last of all, and who seemed neither 
sight-seer nor attache. His once natty blue serge 
suit was sadly wrinkled, there were whitish areas 
on his russet shoes which suggested recent immer- 
sion, his linen was soiled and wilted. The captain 
scrutinized him for a moment until the youth dis- 
appeared around the corner, then fell to spreading a 
pair of dividers across the map. 


6o 


BOY SCOUTS 


“What is it?” he asked, abstractedly. “Bobby 
come over on that boat? ” 

A sentinel who stood at attention in the doorway 
replied, “ A young man would like to see you, sir ; 
gives his name as Wesley Binford.” 

“ Let him come in.” 

If Wesley had been uneasy in the captain’s pres- 
ence before, he was doubly uncomfortable now. 
The boy who had but recently boasted that it would 
be “ his deal when it came to fairy tales ” felt his 
heart pounding in his breast as he stood there, 
humbly waiting. 

“ I don’t suppose you remember me, sir,” he said, 
when the captain at last looked up. 

“ Oh, yes, I remember you very well,” said the 
captain, crisply. “Will you be seated? You 
didn’t get pneumonia, I see.” 

Wesley had never applied for a position in his 
life; despite his vaunted manliness and worldly ex- 
perience, he had had no dealings with men, and he 
was so ignorant of military ways and life that he 
had suffered the utmost trepidation from the mo- 
ment he set foot on the island, asking his direction 
of the first sentinel he had seen, in a vague fear that 
he might be making some terrible error which would 
presently land him in the military lock-up. Like 
most boys he had a curious feeling that army rule 
and discipline involved the general public in some 
way, and that he had better be very careful what 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


61 


he said and whom he addressed in this place of guns 
and uniforms and cannons, if he wanted to avoid 
trouble. He had a haunting fear that he might 
address a general without knowing it, and what 
would happen then? The plain, everyday invita- 
tion to be seated was very grateful to him. 

For a minute Captain Craig moved his dividers 
across the map, and Wesley relieved the tension of 
suspense by watching the stiff, steel legs swagger- 
ing tipsily under his guidance. 

Suddenly he was seized wth a reckless impulse 
to make an offhand, irrelevant remark. He didn’t 
suppose that boys ever did such things in the pres- 
ence of army officers and right in military quarters, 
but before he knew it he had yielded to the impulse 
and the remark was out. 

“ It doesn’t take long to get across the country 
that way, does it?” he said, smiling hesitatingly. 
No one ever saw Wesley smile that way without 
liking him, and the captain laid down his dividers 
and smiled pleasantly himself. 

“ No, just a hop, skip and a jump,” said he. 
“ Now, what can I do for you?” 

“ I don’t suppose you’ll feel like doing anything 
much for me after seeing what a fool I was; you 
saved my life and I guess that’s about all I ought 
to ask.” 

By this time Wesley was nervously handling a 
lead pencil which he had taken from his pocket, but 


62 


BOY SCOUTS 


the captain (unlike most men in such an interview) 
was handling nothing. His two hands rested mo- 
tionless on the arms of his chair, and he was looking 
through his neat little glasses straight at his visitor. 

“ And what had you thought of doing with your 
life now that it has been saved? ” 

“ That’s just what I wanted to see you about, 
sir.” 

“ I see,” he encouraged. 

“ Would — could you, do you think, help me — 
perhaps ? ” 

The captain raised his brows in surprise. “ You 
mean in government service ? ” 

“ Well, yes, sir, that’s what I thought; of course, 
I don’t know anything about such things,” Wesley 
added, somewhat abashed at the captain’s expres- 
sion ; “ I suppose probably you have to have pull, but 
it’s been in my mind ever since Saturday, and — I 
suppose it’s pretty nervy for me to come and see you 

— but I kind of feel as if I’d like to go off and do 
the kind of things you and those two fellows do; I 
feel as if I’d just like to go far away and do some- 
thing that’s — well, real, as you might say, and — 
and dangerous.” 

“ Dangerous, eh ? ” the captain smiled. 

“ Well, not exactly that,” Wesley corrected, with 
a little apologetic laugh, “ but kind of — well, real 

— I guess that’s the word. Maybe if I knew you 
better, and wasn’t so — well, I don’t mean exactly 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


63 

afraid of you,” he stumbled, “ but maybe if I wasn't 
so rattled,” he added, with boyish frankness, 
“ maybe I could tell you what I mean.” 

Captain Craig nodded. 

“ Did any one tell you that our work was real, 
as you say, or did you think of that yourself?” 

“ Well, somebody told me that you got to be kind 
of serene like, being in the woods and the mountains 
so much, and then I got to thinking about it and 
how I couldn’t swim and — I guess in your kind 
of work you don’t have to tell lies — do you?” 

Wesley was so hesitating and nervous that he felt 
he must be showing at his very worst. But on the 
contrary he was at his very best and the captain 
saw this. 

“ Then you think that in some businesses one has 
to tell lies ? ” 

“ Yes, sir — don’t you ? ” 

“ I ? ” he queried amusedly, but refrained from 
expressing himself on that point. Instead, he 
picked up the telegram from Washington, glanced 
at it musingly, and laid it down. Wesley felt that 
he had made a very poor impression, but he was 
never more mistaken in his life. 

“ Well, what can you do that’s useful? ” 

Wesley hesitated, and then told of the only thing 
that he knew how to do, and do well. 

“ I can print,” said he. 

“ Lettering, you mean ? ” 


6 4 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Yes, sir, it’s just kind of a knack, that’s all. 
Sometimes they get me to letter the names on 
canoes and motor-boats.” 

“You’ve never studied drafting?” 

“ No, sir.” 

The captain pushed a piece of paper toward him. 
“ Let me see you letter your name.” 

The hand which took the pencil trembled visibly. 
“ May I use that ruler to rest my hand against ? 
They always do that.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Maybe you’d rather have me print something 
else than my own name, because I’m used to that 
and can do it better.” 

“ Print my name — Captain Ellsworth Burton 
Craig, U.S.A.” 

The hand which, steadied against the slanted 
ruler, guided the pencil, still shook nervously. This 
one accomplishment, which was just a natural gift, 
had never before been put to the test. He held his 
pencil ready, waiting patiently till his hand should 
cease to tremble. Then, slowly but with unerring 
precision, each perfect letter was formed. The 
name stood there symmetrical and perfect. 

“ Hmmm,” said Captain Craig, taking the paper ; 
“ that’s quite remarkable.” 

“ Of course, I could do better with regular draw- 
ing-ink.” 

“ What else can you do ? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


65 


“Nothing much; my father doesn’t think that 
amounts to anything. He says the only thing I can 
do is play the mandolin. I guess that’s not of very 
much use, either.” 

“ Oh, music is always useful,” the captain ob- 
served. “ If a regiment of soldiers is on a twenty 
days’ march they’ll save two days and four hours 
if there’s music along.” 

“ I thought music was just — just for fun.” 

“ Oh, no, it’s a great time-saver; Uncle Sam pays 
out a good deal of money in the course of a year 
for music.” 

“ Well, then,” said Wesley, in a kind of disheart- 
ened way, “ there’s two things I can do, anyway.” 

“ I think you’re a bit discouraged, eh?” said the 
captain. 

“I’d like to go to war,” said Wesley; “that’s 
just the way I feel — and get killed, maybe. That’s 
what a fellow used to do in the old days when he 
felt that he wasn’t much good and the world had 
no use for him.” 

“ Is it, indeed? ” 

“ Only there aren’t any wars nowadays.” 

“ No?” 

“ That is, not unless we have one with Mexico.” 

“ That wouldn’t be much of a war,” said the cap- 
tain, dryly. “ I wouldn’t be killed in a war if I 
were you unless it were a good one, a good big 
one, one that was real , to use your own expression. 


66 


BOY SCOUTS 


A boy who can print like that ought not to bother 
getting killed in a little, popular-price, cut-rate war.” 

He looked sideways at Wesley in that alert, de- 
cisive way, and the boy couldn’t help laughing. 

The captain removed his glasses, held them up 
toward the window, and replaced them carefully 
upon his nose. 

“ So you think there is no war on. Well, now, 
let us see. Suppose I were to tell you that many 
square miles of our territory, farms, vast fields of 
growing crops, populous towns, were captured last 
year by an enemy — a national enemy — an enemy 
whose forces roamed at will through the heart of 
our land — an enemy with two powerful allies; 
that they left death, havoc, devastation, ruin, in their 
path. What if I were to tell you that when the 
fight was over, we found that we had suffered a 
loss of life greater than that caused by any battle 
since the Battle of Gettysburg. What if I were 
to tell you that the enemy effected a night march of 
fifty-seven miles in an hour and twenty minutes, 
threw its flanks over eighty miles of country, sur- 
rounded and laid waste eleven towns — right here 
under the very nose of Uncle Sam. Suppose I 
were to tell you that the spoils of this great victory, 
the booty that was carried off was more than four 
hundred million tons of good American property 
— more than twice as much material as was exca- 
vated for the Panama Canal. Now, what .would 
you say?” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 67 

He had spoken rapidly and convincingly; and it 
left Wesley staring. 

“Were — were you in it?” he asked. 

“ I was in the thick of it.” 

Wesley continued to stare. 

“We never heard of that out our way; would 
you mind telling me who the enemy was ? ” 

“ Not at all — it was the Mississippi River.” 

“The Mississ— ?” 

“ You don’t suppose Mexico could hand us a fight 
like that, do you?” 

“Well, I guess, No!” 

Captain Craig appeared to ponder a minute, then 
spoke in a changed tone. Despite his dry, choppy 
manner, there was a note of encouragement in his 
words. 

“ I rather like the way you have talked to me, 
my boy; and I think the lettering you do is quite 
remarkable and might prove useful. Now, circum- 
stances have come together in such a way that I 
may be able to help you. If so it will depend en- 
tirely upon yourself. When I saw you the other 
day you impressed me as being very fresh and con- 
ceited and as having^a very exaggerated idea of 
your own importance. I am inclined now to 
amend that view somewhat. Of course, you have 
no technical knowledge or training of any kind. 
You could not, even with what you call ‘ pull,’ se- 
cure a field appointment in either of the govern- 


68 


BOY SCOUTS 


mental departments with which I am affiliated ; that 
is, the Department of Agriculture and the Depart- 
ment of the Interior. The Geological Survey, with 
which I am directly connected, is in the latter de- 
partment. If I helped you at all it would only be 
by very broadly construing my authority, and my 
responsibility in such a matter, or my culpability, 
would hinge very largely on your own usefulness 
in the unskilled duties to which you would be as- 
signed. 

“ I have the right to engage extra help at my 
discretion. I am not so sure that I have the right 
to hire a young man in New York and cart him 
across the continent on the supposition that he may 
prove useful. There are a great many young men 
to be had on the spot. Still, I think the lettering 
you do may furnish me an excuse for taking you 
along. At all events, we have railroad transporta- 
tion for one, and I am tempted to keep it and use 
it — and let you come along. We shall be survey- 
ing some country along the Missouri River, and as- 
sisting one of the other departments in conserva- 
tion work; that is, the prevention and handling of 
floods, and the development of rivers. You would 
doubtless meet some of the Forestry boys also, for 
I suspect we shall be thrown with them somewhat 
in surveying and advising them regarding their re- 
serves. 

“Of course,” he added, with just the suggestion 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


69 


of a smile, “ one inexperienced boy more or less 
wouldn’t affect the work in any sense, but I find 
myself so much interested in you that I should dis- 
like exceedingly to think of your hiding your mar- 
tial spirit, and pining away as a shipping clerk or 
a bank messenger on the supposition that there is 
no fighting going on.” 

Wesley laughed good-humoredly, and the cap- 
tain sat back pondering. 

“ I want to get into that fight, Captain Craig ; I 
hope you’ll decide right now to let me go. I’ll do 
my very best.” 

“ I will take the responsibility of offering you 
twenty-five dollars a month, and of course your liv- 
ing will be furnished you. You will do anything 
that you are told to do. If, through negligence or 
incompetence, you fail to make good, you will be 
dismissed forthwith and your fare paid to the near- 
est city — which would probably be Helena, Mon- 
tana. If you do well your services will be appreci- 
ated. What do you say?” 

“ I say I’ll go, and that I thank you — and that 
I will do my very best — and — ” He almost broke 
down. 

“ Very well ; then you may get your things ready 
and come over on the boat late this afternoon. 
There’s one that leaves the Battery about five. 
You’ll find Bobby Cullen on it, probably. Tell him 
to give you a few pointers. Don’t try to show off 
before him — he’d only take you down.” 


70 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Good-by, Captain Craig, and thank you — 
thank you very much. I’ll be here, all right.” 

“ Good-by, my boy,” said the captain, rising and 
taking his hand. “ We’ll have a good fight,” he 
added, cheerily. “How old are you, Wesley?” 

It sounded good to hear his own name in that 
way. 

“ Eighteen,” he said. 

“ So? You’re tall for your age; you’d be taller 
still if you threw your shoulders back. Well, good- 
by.” 

“ Good — good-by, Captain.” For a moment he 
hesitated, not quite knowing whether he ought to 
salute, and wondering how to do it. 

“ You want to josh Bobby about his harmonica,” 
said the captain ; “ don’t forget about that.” 

“ No, sir, I won’t,” laughed Wesley. “ Good-by 
till to-night.” 

His fear of military discipline and etiquette and 
his notions about army officers had changed some- 
what. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ENEMY’S FIRST MOVE 

Wesley was greatly relieved that Captain Craig 
had asked him nothing about his home nor any 
question which might have made it necessary for 
him to say that his plans were not known to his 
family. But now a dilemma confronted him. He 
must not appear empty-handed before the captain, 
for that would surely excite remark and perhaps 
suspicion. He must have something in the form 
of baggage, both for appearance’s sake and because 
certain articles were indispensable. Also, he told 
himself, ruefully, he was very hungry. 

It was in this predicament and when he had about 
reached his wits’ end, fearing that now at the last 
moment his opportunity and his plans were to be 
ruined, that he noticed a musty-looking store, which 
suggested to him an expedient he had never dreamed 
of in his life before. The very sight of the win- 
dow, indiscriminately filled with old and ill-assorted 
trifles, reminded Wesley to what a low ebb he had 
run, and through what sordid and pride-racking 
channels he must go before the tide of his life 
turned. 


7i 


72 


BOY SCOUTS 


He walked past the place several times before he 
could muster the courage to go in, then he entered 
and fumbling nervously he removed from his waist- 
coat the little High School fraternity pin which he 
always wore. 

The man took it, scrutinized it, and said, “ How 
much? ” 

“ I would like to get five dollars/' said Wesley. 

“ I’ll let you have four/' 

“All right," said Wesley, glad to make an end 
of such an interview. His voice almost trembled 
with embarrassment and humiliation as he took the 
four bills and a little ticket, which he did not read 
but thrust in his pocket as if to get it out of his 
sight. Then he went out of the musty den to where 
the bright sun was shining. He thought that peo- 
ple must be looking at him, but was surprised to 
find that no one seemed to notice. To Wesley it 
was an awful experience. 

He bought himself a belated luncheon, the effect 
of which was to bring back some measure of his 
lost pride. Then he purchased for seventy-five 
cents a pasteboard suitcase with a cheap coating of 
oil-cloth paint. It was one of a number which were 
chained together outside a trunk store and was said 
to be “ marked down ” from a fabulous price. So 
Wesley felt that fortune was favoring him. He 
next bought a pair of corduroy trousers, two coarse 
blue flannel shirts and some cheap underwear. He 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


73 


made these sumptuous purchases with a certain rue- 
ful amusement, for he had never gone in much for 
the “ roughing it ” attire which the Scout move- 
ment had done so much to popularize. Wesley had 
always worn frightfully high collars and prided 
himself on knowing how to tie a four-in-hand. He 
also bought a writing-pad. 

When his shopping was finished he had eighteen 
cents left. But he felt that he was well started now 
and that when a certain other unpleasant duty was 
performed, he might see the clouds breaking and a 
clear way ahead. He was keenly expectant, hope- 
ful, almost happy. 

It was in this new mood of unaffected and fresh 
enthusiasm that Captain Craig saw him when he 
and Bobby Cullen arrived together in the middle 
of the afternoon. In Wesley's pocket were two un- 
finished letters, both liberally adorned with erasures, 
corrections and interlinings. They were evidently 
in a formative stage and intended for further re- 
vision and final copying before mailing. He had 
produced them in Battery Park while waiting for 
the government boat. One was to his father, the 
other was to Harry Arnold, but both were much 
the same in substance. The one to Harry Arnold 
ran: 

Dear Harry : — 

Last Saturday I took your canoe. The locker 


74 


BOY SCOUTS 


was locked — but I tapped the padlock. Of course, 
I ought not to have done it, but I meant to put it 
back before you got home and anyway I thought 
you wouldn't mind. When I got up to Sparrow’s 
Honor reminded me of some money I hadn’t paid 
left over from last year. And I took some money 
— three dollars and five cents — out of your mack- 
inaw and paid it. It was a dishonest thing to do 
but I didn’t mean it that way, because Billy Acker- 
son was going to buy my bicycle and I intended to 
put back what I stole before you found it out. I 
expected the whole thing would be straightened out 
in an hour or so. But of course I realize now that 
I would have been a thief for that long anyway. 
On the way down I smashed your canoe because 
I didn’t know the channel, as any fool does, so that 
is a good lesson too. I was rescued but I would 
rather not tell yet who rescued me. I’m sorry I 
didn’t let you teach me to swim two years ago when 
you offered to. I was all rattled and when I came 
to myself and got to thinking I realized that I owed 
you fifty-three dollars and five cents, and that all 
of it was stolen as you might say. And when I 
got to thinking I thought of a lot of other things 
too, for that’s the way it is. Now I’ve gone away 
not because I am afraid. At first I was kind of 
afraid, but not now, only I have a plan so it will 
be all myself and nobody else that makes good. — 
You wouldn’t think a girl like Honor Sparrow who 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


75 


looks at you so straight could start a fellow doing 
— but it was just because she did look at me so 
straight that I tumbled over — as you might say. 
But — well I guess I can’t tell you what I mean, 
but anyway she had me sized up and knew I was 
bluffing. Now, Harry, I write you this letter be- 
cause I am going away to earn money to pay you. 
So I can give back what belongs to you — though I 
stole because I was a fool and not because I meant 
to be dishonest. I know you will believe that and 
when all this gets to be known I wish you would 
try to make Honor Sparrow believe it too. And 
tell Sparrow I found out he is right. I have got a 
job very far away and unless you want the money 
very much, Harry, please don’t take it from my 
father for that wouldn’t be me paying you back. 
And I know you expect to go away somewhere 
yourself so maybe you wouldn’t get another canoe 
just yet anyway. I’m going to get twenty-five dol- 
lars a month and my board too. So I’m going to 
send you twenty-five dollars — that is all my — I 
mean all your money — the end of the first month 
and the same at the end of the second month, and the 
next month I will send the other three dollars and 
five cents. And after you get it all I want you to 
say to yourself that I’m not a thief and try to make 
my father believe it too, for I know you are the 
kind of fellow who won’t misjudge me. I think 
my father has more use for you than he has for me 


76 


BOY SCOUTS 


so please talk to him and try to make him under- 
stand what I write to him. That’s a hard thing 
for a fellow to admit, but it’s true, Harry. But 
I’ve made one friend who believes in me so — 

That was as far as the rough draft went. It 
had been his intention to copy and mail these let- 
ters before starting, but things moved so briskly 
from the moment he rejoined the captain that he 
was in Philadelphia before he knew it, with these 
rough drafts still in his pocket. Between Phila- 
delphia and Pittsburgh he lay awake in his berth 
pondering them, and between Pittsburgh and Chi- 
cago they suffered relentless overhauling. The boy 
seemed possessed by a perfect craze to get the right 
words and to call things by their names. The let- 
ters in their final and accepted form narrowly es- 
caped mailing at Minneapolis, and then came within 
an ace of being carried all the way out to the head- 
waters of the Missouri in the interest of this odd 
scrupulousness. When they finally did start upon 
their travels back they bore the postmark of Willis- 
ton, North Dakota. 

And that was the last that was ever heard of one 
of them, and even the other, filthy and saturated, 
but rescued by Uncle Sam, was not delivered to 
Harry in Oakwood. For a certain minor ally of 
the mighty host with whom Wesley Bin ford hoped 
later to cope, had already begun in true military 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


77 


fashion by intercepting communications of the 
enemy. Captain Craig would have called it just 
a preliminary skirmish of this little ally. It came 
out of winter quarters somewhere in the fastnesses 
above the American border, where it had rested in 
the form of snow and ice throughout the long 
winter. 

Melting, it poured down hillside, over precipice 
and through many a rocky cranny and deep ravine, 
and into the channel of Blue River. Then, sweep- 
ing in its mad career through this river’s valley in 
northern Minnesota, it surprised the little town of 
Conver’s Junction, and put it out of business. A 
little east of Valley Station, a few miles farther 
down, it caught the railroad bridge, uprooted it, 
toppled it over, scattered the wreckage and bore 
the fragments along with it as prisoners of war. 
It carried off the telegraph wires, too, in a hopeless 
tangle. And in that same hour the train which 
bore Wesley’s letters eastward went plunging head- 
long over the embankment into the turbulent 
waters. 

And so it came about that a few days later a lit- 
tle solemn group of boys stood upon the shore of 
a well-behaved and modest stream a mile or two 
above their home in Oakwood, New Jersey, and 
watched with bated breath a certain spot nearby 
where two of the husky fishermen whom he had so 
despised, were dragging the river for the body of 
Wesley Binford. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE OTHER BOY 

“ Come on, Kid, there's nothing here." 

The boy who spoke had stood with the other 
watchers for half an hour, and his voice was the 
first to break the awesome silence. There was 
something in his tone which intimated that he had 
only waited in deference to the others; that the re- 
sult was as he had expected. 

“ We can’t pull the net through all them dead 
limbs," one of the fishermen called ; “ it’s a reg’lar 
jungle down under there. If one o’ you boys cares 
to trot up as far as Sparrow’s place, he may have 
a grappling iron." 

The man’s brusque voice and matter-of-fact 
words seemed to lift the spell. They seemed 
strangely out of keeping with the atmosphere of 
suspense and solemnity. Brick Parks looked 
toward the boy who had withdrawn a few feet, as 
if to leave. The little fellow whom the latter had 
called Kid also looked at him as if to express a sug- 
gestion he did not like to put in words. 

The first speaker sauntered back, his hands in 
his trousers pockets. 


78 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


79 


“ You want me to dive? ” he asked, quietly. 

“ He says he’ll dive,” one of the boys called to 
the fishermen. 

“Who? You?” called the man; “you’ll want 
an ax to chop your way out — if you don’t crack 
your head going down ! ” He said something to 
his companion about “ fool talk,” which the boys 
could not hear distinctly. 

“ I’ll dive a little way above and then swim 
down,” the boy said in a low voice to his compan- 
ions, ignoring the men. There was a suggestion of 
half-heartedness, of careless but willing resignation, 
in his tone. 

“ Don’t if you don’t think it’s safe, Harry.” 

He made no answer, but proceeded to remove his 
shoes, a blue flannel, double-breasted shirt, and the 
undershirt beneath it. His trousers were held up 
by a narrow leather belt, and this he pulled tight. 
Then he picked his way over rock and fallen tree 
a few yards and out onto the old water-logged float. 

He was a tall boy, slender, but with nothing of 
the ungainly look which suggests too rapid growth. 
The fact that they had all turned to him as to the 
one who might naturally be expected to do this 
thing would seem to imply that he had some repu- 
tation for athletic skill and prowess, yet he had not 
those ostentatiously square shoulders which one as- 
sociates with matted hair and sweaters with em- 
broidered letters. Nor had he that aggressive 


8o 


BOY SCOUTS 


stride which bespeaks the college gladiator. Rather 
might he have been likened to a deer or a panther, 
for nature seemed to have solved for him that prob- 
lem which she does not often solve for a boy of be- 
ing graceful without being effeminate. He was, in 
a word, one of those boys whom other boys imitate 
and whom girls talk about. But this is between 
you and me ; he never knew it. 

He must have known the river pretty well to dive 
anywhere thereabout, for the spot had a bad repu- 
tation, first and last. But he went in with a splash 
and it seemed to the waiters fully five minutes be- 
fore he reappeared out of the submerged thicket, 
throwing his head far back and brushing back his 
dripping hair by repeated swings of his forearm. 

“ No sign? ” some one called. 

He shook his head as he clambered up, extri- 
cating himself from the tangle of slimy branches. 
“ Here, catch this/’ he panted, throwing a bedrag- 
gled garment toward the group. It was his own 
mackinaw jacket. 

“You’re some eel, Harry.” 

“No sign of — it — at all, Harry?” asked the 
small boy. 

He shook his head again, throwing himself on 
the grass in the broad sunlight. 

“ Went down with the tide, just as I said,” ob- 
served one of the men in the boat. “ We’ll just 
have to wait till the river gets good and ready; 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


81 


she’ll take her own time about it, like she always 
does — you can’t hurry her none. Look at old 
Topley, they didn’t find him for near a month, and 
then way down the bay.” 

“ Same as ’twas with that Barnard youngster,” 
rejoined the other man. “He came up in one of 
them dredge-scoops, six weeks after.” 

“ You was lucky to wriggle up through all that 
stuff,” said the first man, addressing Harry. 
“ Beats all how a confounded fool will come out 
safe — kinder like a sleep walker.” 

The boy on the grass acknowledged this compli- 
ment with a little laugh, but otherwise paid no at- 
tention to the conversation. 

“ Coming up to Sparrow’s ? ” said Brick Parks. 

Harry shook his head. 

“ No, I’m going to lie here and let the gentle 
zephyrs dry me out.” 

“Who’s going up to Sparrow’s?” said Brick 
Parks, bent on mustering recruits. 

“ I promised I’d go up and tell him the result, 
anyway,” said Howard Brent. 

“ Trot along,” encouraged Harry ; “ go on up 
with them. Kid.” 

“ No, I’m going to stay here and go down with 
you.” 

The boy who was capable of the supreme sac- 
rifice of foregoing an ice cream cone to remain with 
his friend, was small and compact in stature, with 


8 2 


BOY SCOUTS 


dancing brown eyes, face as brown as a mulatto, 
teeth as white as ivory, head as round as a globe 
and hair as curly as — as anything. He wore the 
complete regalia of the Boy Scouts, with the track- 
ing badge and the stalking badge conspicuously 
displayed, and looked as if he might have stepped 
out of the latest edition of the Scout Manual. He 
was, I should like to inform you, mascot of the 
Beaver Patrol, whose color was brown, for which 
reason he was wont to bare his arms and neck to 
the pelting sun each spring in order that he might 
wear the colors of his beloved patrol throughout 
the summer in a patriotic and loyal coat of tan. 

He it was who invented the famous picnic instru- 
ment for getting olives out of the bottom of a bot- 
tle, which entirely obviated the use of hat-pins for 
that purpose; and he it was who first thought of 
putting a blanket on a shade-roller fastened to the 
footboard of the bed, so that all you had to do was 
to give it a little start when you were too sleepy to 
arouse yourself to the exertion of pulling it up and 
throwing it off. In a word, he had benefited the 
world in many ways ; his inventions were known all 
over the — house. But his efforts at reforming 
and “ scouterizing ” Harry Arnold had proved a 
dismal and heart-rending failure. For Harry 
would not wear the scout uniform. 

Harry had himself been patrol leader of the 
Beavers, but during a two-years’ absence in Panama 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


83 


that position had fallen to Brick Parks. Gordon 
had voted against Brick Parks’ elevation to patrol 
leader on the ground that his hair was red, whereas 
the Beaver color was brown, but the election was 
carried by a quorum during Gordon’s absence, and 
when Harry returned from Panama Dr. Brent had 
made him a sort of assistant scout-master. He 
had, indeed, occupied such a position while on the 
Isthmus, for Mr. Barney, the captain of the steam 
shovel on which Harry had worked, had been in 
charge of the Panama scouts, and had enlisted 
Harry’s help with them. Near the end of his two- 
years’ work on the canal, Gordon had made a trip 
to the Isthmus in company with his Missouri cous- 
ins, Will and Joe Howell, and their father, who was 
sent by the United States gQvernment to make 
some statistical comparisons there. Gordon had 
thus made the acquaintance of several good friends 
of Harry’s, among them Jack Holden, a Missouri 
boy then stationed with the Tenth Regiment of 
Infantry at Panama, and Mr. Carleton Conne who 
was engaged in gathering motion-picture material 
on the Isthmus. 

“ You didn’t seem to take much interest in find- 
ing it, Harry.” 

“ Because I knew it wasn’t there.” 

“ You think he floated — ” 

“ He isn’t in the river, Kid; he’s alive,” said 
Harry, softly. 


8 4 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ You’re the first person to say that, Harry! 
Why, Mr. Binford had the county detective — 
Blauvelt — and another man come up and look all 
around, and they said it was surely here that it 
happened, because here’s where the spiked beam 
was that stove in the canoe, and then they exam- 
ined the shore just like Monsieur — Something-or- 
other — you know that famous French detective, 
Harry, and there wasn’t any sign of footprints any- 
where. He couldn’t have got to shore or Blauvelt 
would have found some sign of it, but he didn’t 
even — ” 

“ He didn’t even find this,” Harry interrupted, 
pointing to his mackinaw jacket. “ It was hanging 
just like on a hat-rack, not six inches under water.” 

“ Why didn’t you come up the first day, Harry ? 
You knew it was your canoe.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, Kid, I just didn’t want to; 
I didn’t want to see the canoe.” 

“ It seems awfully funny for Wesley Binford 
not to be here, doesn’t it ? ” said the younger boy, 
after a pause. “ I was always meeting him around 
town.” 

Harry rose and led the way into a clump of 
bushes. There, drawn up above flood-tide, lay the 
wreck of the vermilion canoe. 

“ Here’s something else that Blauvelt didn’t see, 
Kid,” he said, in the subdued voice which the scene 
and the memory of what had happened there 
seemed to prompt. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


85 


“ He did, Harry ; it was he that pulled it up.” 

“ I don't mean the canoe, Kid, but look here.” 

He pointed to a round, black spot close under the 
gunwale and about midway of the canoe's length. 
It was about as large as a small saucer, and its 
edges had a frayed look which suggested the pic- 
tures one sometimes sees of the sun. 

“ What is it, Harry?” 

The older boy rubbed it and held his blackened 
finger up to Gordon. “ It was made by the exhaust 
of a launch,” said he. 

“ It might have happened before the — before 
the accident,” said Gordon. 

“ It must have happened after the canoe was 
swamped, or it wouldn’t be up so near the gunwale. 
When the thing happened the canoe must have been 
brought alongside a launch and held there close 
against the exhaust. Wesley was rescued. Kid.” 

For a minute Gordon was speechless. Then, 
suddenly, he began dancing up and down. 

“ You’re wrong, Harry, you’re wrong, you’re 
wrong, you’re wrong ! ” 

“ Don’t, Kid,” said Harry, quietly. 

“ Well, anyway, Harry, if he was rescued by a 
launch the launch must have stopped to rescue 
him.” 

“ Sure.” 

“ Well, then, the exhaust wouldn’t be puffing 
when the boat was standing still and the engine not 
going.” 


86 


BOY SCOUTS 


" But the engine might have kept on going while 
the boat was standing — if it had a clutch.” 

“ There’s no motor-boat up this way that’s got 
a clutch,” said Gordon, triumphantly. 

“ Which simply proves,” said Harry, “ that 
there’s no use looking for Wesley Binford along 
this river. He was rescued by some boat that 
doesn’t belong up this way. She has a heavy-duty 
engine, too, if it’s any comfort for you to know it; 
a one-cylinder, probably a four-cycle.” 

He was sober, but still amused at Gordon’s sur- 
prise. 

“ Why, Harry? ” 

“ Otherwise she’d have kicked faster and spat- 
tered more. She wasn’t a very new boat either.” 

“Why?” 

" Or she’d have her exhaust under water — or 
at least through her transom. I’m glad the man 
who was running it didn’t understand the engine 
very well.” 

“ The same, Harry — why ? ” 

“ Gave her too much oil ; see how nice and thick 
and black she prints.” And to prove it he drew a 
streak of the oil-laden smoke across Gordon’s as- 
tonished visage. “ Come on, let’s go home, Kid.” 

“ Harry, you’re more obtuse than Mr. Blauvelt 
— I mean astute.” 

“ You don’t mean that for a compliment, do you, 
Kid? Because Blauvelt always puts on a pair of 
blinders when he goes hunting for clews.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 87 

\ 

“ Well, then, you’re as good as a detective in a 
book.” 

“ Now, you’re talking.” 

“ Harry, authors are supposed to know every- 
thing, aren’t they?” 

“ Guess so.” 

“ Gee, it must be fine to be an author.” 

Harry could not help laughing as Gordon trudged 
along beside him, talking volubly. 

“ Say, Harry, if a good boy in a book has a 
friend he’s called a chum, but if a bad boy has a 
friend he’s called a crony. Why is that? ” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea, Kid.” 

“ Why does an author call a boy a lad ? ” 

“ Give it up.” 

“ Nobody else does.” 

“ They know all about everything except boys. 
Kid.” 

“ Do you like long chapters or short chapters 
best?” 

“ I think I’ll take short chapters for mine.” 

“There’s where you’re wrong; long chapters are 
best. Now often at night when I’m reading my 
mother tells me I’ll have to go to bed when I finish 
the chapter. So I believe in long chapters. That’s 
why I like Robinson Crusoe , because it hasn’t got 
any chapters at all. One night I was reading Rob- 
inson Crusoe , and she told me I must go to bed 
when I finished the chapter. Cracky, I sat up for 


88 


BOY SCOUTS 


three hours, Harry, till everybody else went to bed.” 

“ I’ll remember that if I ever write a book.” 

“ Harry, do you think you’ll go out west and 
start on that conversation work this spring?” 

Harry laughed outright. “ I guess you’d be the 
proper one to go if it was a case of conversation 
work, Kiddo.” 

“ Well, it’s some kind of ‘ con ’ work.” 

“ ‘ Conservation ’ is what the government calls it.” 

“ I hope you won’t hear from my uncle ; I’d 
rather have you stay here this summer. Cracky, 
you and I don’t seem to be together any more at 
all.” 

“Well, maybe I won’t hear, Kid, but I hope I 
will.” 

“ He’s a dandy, my uncle is, isn’t he ? ” 

“ You bet.” 

“He inherits it from his sons, Harry; they’re 
both dandy fellows, even if they are jolliers.” 

“ You mean lads, Kid? ” 

“ Yes, sturdy lads,” laughed Gordon. 

A silence fell upon the pair as they strolled along, 
Gordon revolving these and other sundry matters 
in his active mind. 

Meanwhile, Harry opened the flap pocket of his 
mackinaw and removed the change and saturated 
bills. He counted the money, paused as if puz- 
zled, then counted it again. 

“ Any missing, Ilarry? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


89 


“ N-no, guess not.” 

“ It couldn’t have fallen out with the pocket but- 
toned down.” 

“ No,” said Harry, thrusting the money into his 
trousers pocket; but the puzzled look did not leave 
his face. 

“ I kind of liked Wesley Binford, didn’t you, 
Harry ? There was something about him I couldn’t 
help liking.” 

“ Yes, I did, Kid — and I do.” 

“ Will you get a new canoe? ” 

“ Not yet, anyway; not till I know what I’m 
going to do.” 

“ Where do you suppose he’s gone, Harry ? ” 

Harry shook his head and again they strolled on 
in silence. 

“ Do you suppose we’ll ever see Mr. Carleton 
Conne again, Harry ? ” 

“ ’Fraid not, Kid; he was all right, wasn’t he?” 

“ Oh, wasn't he great ? ” 

“ I suppose he’s making motion-pictures at the 
North Pole now,” Harry mused. “ I’d give a mess 
of pottage, whatever that is, to see him, I know 
that.” 

“ A prince’s ransom is better — that’s what peo- 
ple usually talk about giving.” 

“ Well, I’d give that then.” 

The drowning of Wesley Binford was a nine 


90 


BOY SCOUTS 


days’ wonder in Oakwood. There were the usual 
timely admonitions that one should never go out 
in a canoe without knowing how to swim. The 
local newspaper insisted that the Boat Club ought 
to be public-spirited enough to have the Perch Hole 
cleaned out. For a short while, if a fellow wanted 
to take a girl canoeing, he encountered parental 
objections, but you cannot stop canoeing because a 
person drowns any more than you can stop railroad 
travel because of a fatal collision, and the advancing 
spring found the river dotted with lolling couples, 
who spoke of the treacherous Perch Hole as they 
steered, with extra care, through its hidden perils. 

Either Marjorie Danforth was extremely reck- 
less of her life, or else she had unbounded confidence 
in Harry’s skill and knowledge of the river, for in 
that little interval of play-time for him, which was 
to end all too soon, they were seen together on the 
river nearly every day, and she was content to 
recline against the “ lazy-back ” unafraid to let 
him pick his way around the fatal bend in the 
darkness, on the dangers of a half tide. It was 
many an ice cream cone they had at Sparrow’s in 
that early springtide which was too good to last. 
When Harry asked Brick Parks if he might use 
his canoe, Brick threw a full bailing sponge at him 
for asking foolish questions — and besides there 
was Gordon’s canoe always at his service. 

Whatever lingering hope Mr. Binford had that 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


9i 


his son might have clambered ashore somehow, 
was completely dissipated by that “ astute ” county 
official, Detective Blauvelt, who had examined the 
scene of the accident at the father’s request. As 
a rule, a fugitive is kind enough to leave a foot- 
print or two and a torn fragment of some garment 
on a bramble-bush, or at least, a pocket handker- 
chief with an initial on it, and when Detective 
Blauvelt’s trained and searching eye failed to un- 
cover any such conclusive souvenir, his scientific 
mind naturally deduced that the boy had been 
drowned. Harry had been up to the Binford cot- 
tage to tell Wesley’s father of his conviction that 
the son was alive, but there, as everywhere else, 
the theory of the official tracker and deducer had 
been accepted and how should the conclusions of a 
mere amateur, and a boy, prevail against a three- 
thousand-dollar-a-year sleuth ? 

His call at the cottage was not altogether pleas- 
ant, for he found Mr. Binford a cold, unresponsive 
sort of man who received his expression of opinion 
with a very slight, ironic smile and told him to buy 
a new canoe and let him know what it cost. He 
knew that the Arnolds, who lived in the big, old- 
fashioned house, were rich. 

But the great sleuth himself did have a kind 
word for Harry, for one day he met young Dr. 
Brent, the boys’ scout-master, on the Court House 
steps. 


92 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ That Arnold boy is quite a wide-awake young 
fellow,” he said, “and bright, too; only trouble is 
he’s been reading fool detective stories.” 

“ On the contrary, he doesn’t care for detective 
stories at all,” said the doctor, promptly, “ but he 
has read a great many books on the subject of 
motor-boats, and gas engine principles; you’ll find 
him exceptionally well-posted on that subject.” 

“ Well,” said Detective Blauvelt, “ I never took 
much interest in machinery.” 

“No, I thought as much,” retorted the doctor, 
dryly. 

When day followed day, and still there was no 
sign of Wesley, the truth of Mr. Blauvelt’s con- 
clusions seemed doubly confirmed, and if people 
refrained from saying that he had been sometimes 
mean and always selfish, that he thought only of 
himself, if they ceased to speak of his silly pose of 
sportiness, as laughable or sickening, it was for the 
same reason that Wesley himself had given Spar- 
row in magnanimously declining to comment on 
Oakwood — because they did not wish to speak 
disrespectfully of the dead. 

At last, there came a day when Marjorie and 
Harry went canoeing together for the last time. 
She was leaning against the “ lazy-back,” sur- 
rounded by cushions, her pretty feet crossed in the 
bottom of the canoe, and he was leaning forward 
talking with her and letting the paddle drip. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


93 


“ Mean ? ” he queried, “ no, I think the meanest 
thing he ever did was not to leave half his coat 
caught on a brier-tree for Detective Blauvelt; that 
was thoughtless ! ” 

“ You still think he’s alive?” she asked, skepti- 
cism in her big eyes. 

“ Sure, I do.” 

“ Then you don’t mind my saying what I 
think?” 

“ No, only you’re wrong, Marje.” 

“ Do you think he would be capable of ever mak- 
ing a real sacrifice for any one ? ” 

“ There you go again, talking of what he might 
do or would do. Girls have ‘ supreme sacrifices ’ 
on the brain.” 

“ You’re always defending him.” 

“ No, I’m not, Marje.” 

“He never thought of anybody bui: himself; he 
wouldn’t turn aside in the street to let an old lady 
pass.” 

There was a moment’s silence. 

“ Marje, has your class begun on Froude’s His- 
tory yet ? ” 

“ Yes, and I loathe it.” 

“ Well, do you remember that fellow — one of 
those martyrs? He could march right up and let 
himself be tied to the stake and roasted, and he 
never made a sound, but three weeks before he 
shrieked like a baby when he had a toothache in 
London Tower.” 


94 


BOY SCOUTS 


“And the moral of that is?” she asked, teas- 
ingly. 

“ Nothing, only it seems to me that a person is 
either big or little, but usually not both. He may 
be a coward in little things ; but a hero in big things. 
They say General Grant was afraid to fight when 
he was a boy.” 

“ I’d prefer to judge people by what I see them 
do,” said the girl. “ If a person is selfish, he’s 
selfish, that’s all. Wesley Binford couldn’t make 
a big sacrifice because he couldn’t make a little 
one.” 

“How about Froude — and that martyr fel- 
low?” 

“ I told you I abominate Froude, and I didn’t 
come out for a history lesson ! ” 

“ How about an ice cream cone ? ” 

She smiled half shamefacedly at her little out- 
burst. 

“ That sounds better,” she said. 

So Harry plunged his dripping paddle and 
started up the river. 

Perhaps she was right, that the little things make 
the big things, just as the pennies make the dollars, 
and that the little things are a safe standard by 
which to judge. And I’m afraid it was true that 
Wesley Binford had expected the world to stand 
aside and let him pass. 

But how about that fellow, the martyr? 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


95 


That night Marjorie Dan forth met Harry’s sis- 
ter, Margaret. “ Isn’t it perfectly lovely,” said 
she, “ you can't get him to say a word against Wes- 
ley, his friend ! ” 

“ They weren’t friends,” said Margaret, “ they 
hardly ever saw each other.” 

So the days flew by till finally Gordon came to 
scout meeting one night, bringing a letter for 
Harry, with the imprint, Bureau of Standards, 
Washington, D. C., in the corner. 

“ Before you open it, Harry — here, give me that 
back — not till you hear what I’ve got to say — 
now listen, and everybody here be a witness! If 
you go out west, Harry — now mind, I’m saying 
this even before you open that letter — if you go 
out west, Harry, I’m coming to join you before 
you come home and there’s no use in denying it 
because I’ve got a president — ” 

“ You mean a secretary of state,” interrupted 
Brick Parks. 

“ Precedent? ” suggested Dr. Brent. 

“ Yes, I’ve got a precedent, because I went to 
Panama when everybody said I wouldn’t — and 
that’s a precedent — something that happens before 
something else to prove the other thing by the thing 
that happened before it. I’ll think up a way all 
right ! ” 

“ Please may I read the letter now, Kid ? ” said 
Harry. 


9 6 


BOY SCOUTS 


The boys crowded about, looking over Harry’s 
shoulder while he read the long-looked-for letter 
from his genial and kindly friend, Gordon’s uncle, 
whom he had met while working at Panama. 

“ Dear Harry : — 

“ I hope you will not think I have forgotten you, 
but the mills of Uncle Sam grind slowly, and you 
know he’s a finnicky old bachelor about some 
things — ” 

(“ Isn’t my uncle a dandy, Harry? He — ” 

“ Keep still, will you?”) 

“ a finnicky old bachelor about some things. Yes- 
terday I had a talk with Mr. Dalton who is con- 
nected with the Geological Survey, one of the 
Bureaus of the Interior Department. He has just 
returned from Montana and was very enthusiastic 
over the work which is being done there by the 
Reclamation Service, another branch of the same 
department. These two bureaus are working more 
or less in conjunction on the great conservation 
projects which are being carried on there. He was 
telling me of the great artificial storage lake which 
they are making in the mountains to gather flood 
waters, and of the great dam they are throwing up. 

“ By the merest chance, he mentioned his annoy- 
ance that the government had ‘ copped,’ as he ex- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


97 


pressed it, one of the young men who was most 
valuable in excavation work. The young man in 
question was with a party doing topographical 
work in New York and was about to start west 
when he was transferred to irrigation work some- 
where. Instantly I thought of you. I told him 
of your work at Panama — that excavation was 
in fact your middle name, as I believe Gordon 
would say — ” 

'(“He’s all right, isn’t he, Harry! He—” 
“Shut up! Where was I? Oh, yes — ”) 

“ as Gordon would say ; that you had worked in 
the ‘ ditch ’ on one of the record-breaking shov- 
els — ” 

(“ That’s true, you did, Harry!”) 

“ and that your name was on the Civil Service list, 
though not near the top. He said it made no dif- 
ference where it was as long as it was there, that 
if you worked on the ‘ ditch ’ and had a good rec- 
ord for excavation work, he wanted you and that 
he’d see you got a certificate of appointment imme- 
diately. It’s quite a thing for Uncle Sam to do 
anything immediately, Harry — ” 

(“That’s a good rap — ” 

“ Will you keep still one minute? ” 

“ Sure.”) 


98 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ This morning I had him on the ’phone and he 
said that your certificate had started and that you 
were ordered to report in Washington forthwith. 
They are, as I understood him, hurrying to get this 
work finished so as to catch the bulk of this year’s 
wild water, and then he thinks they can use you 
down the Mississippi — ” 

(“ In the path of La Salle, Harry!” shouted 
Gordon. 

“ La Salle, who’s he? ” asked Til Morrell. 

“ He explored the Mississippi River,” said Gor- 
don, contemptuously. “ He was a chiffonier — ” 

“ A roll-top desk,” said Brick Parks. 

" You mean a piano-stool,” said Ray Carpenter. 

“ He was a hat-rack,” said Pierce. 

“ Can I finish this letter? ” asked Harry. 

“ Who’s stopping you ? ” demanded Gordon. 

“ Maybe, he was a chevalier,” suggested Dr. 
Brent, quietly; “ let us hear the rest, Harry boy.”) 

“ Be sure to stop in and see me while you are here, 
and congratulations and all good wishes until then. 

“ Your friend, 

E. C. Howell.” 

And so it came to pass that another one of Oak- 
wood’s boys left the town in that pleasant spring- 
time, and went forth with good wishes and flatter- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


99 


in g predictions, with every breeze blowing in his 
favor (as was no more than right), to challenge 
mountains and valleys and throw down the gaunt- 
let to great rivers in the name of Uncle Sam. 


CHAPTER IX 


HARRY HEARS OF THE LOST CACHE 

“ Well, well, well! ” 

The cordiality seemed to roll up, exploding the 
final “ Well ” in a hospitable burst. 

“ Harry, my boy, I’m delighted to see you — it 
seems like old times — like, eh, like — as our old 
friend, Mr. Carleton Conne, would say — like meet- 
ing a long-lost brother. Sit right down here, my 
boy! When did you reach Washington? ” 

If Harry had not been already radiant with hap- 
piness, the mention of Carleton Conne would have 
sufficed to put him in good humor. But he was 
radiant. And he sank into a chair in Mr. How- 
ell’s hotel room, panting, partly from fatigue and 
partly from very excess of joyousness and enthu- 
siasm. Mr. Howell rubbed his shiny bald head 
and contemplated him smilingly. 

“ ’Bout noon,” panted Harry. “ I’ve been 
tramping through the musty halls of that old Hooe 
Building all afternoon.” 

“ And is everything all right ? ” 

“ Everything’s fine and dandy — with something 
left over. I’m all signed and countersigned and 
ready for Montana.” 

ioo 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


IOI 


“ Fine! You saw Dalton? ” 

“Saw Mr. Dalton — he said I was just the fel- 
low they wanted.” 

“ Good!” 

“ And Pm starting to-night — sleeper — twelve- 
thirty.” 

“Well, well!” 

“ Going to be a straddler for the present. Mr. 
Dalton introduced me to a gentleman — Elting — 
who is in the Survey — ” 

“ I know him.” 

“ And he says I’ll have to handle the field sheets 
— they’re doing a lot of contour work in the Gulch ; 
then I had to go over to the R.S. — that’s Reclama- 
tion Service — ” 

“ Yes, I know,” laughed Mr. Howell. 

“ And there they told me what I’ll probably have 
to do on the storage lake work — so I’m to be 
charged up half to R.S. and half to G.S. — but it’s 
all really one. I may circle up cracks and mark 
stones for the crown-work, and they may let me 
look after some of the grouting, too. It’s an arch 
dam, you know, and where there’s arch action — ” 
He stopped short as Mr. Howell smiled broadly. 
“ I forgot,” he concluded sheepishly, “ that you're 
an engineer.” 

“ That’s all right, my boy, I’m glad to see you so 
interested.” 

“ One thing I’m pretty sure about,” Harry went 


102 


BOY SCOUTS 


on, “ is excavation work. We talked about some 
ditches and things and Mr. Dalton wrote a letter to 
the Gulch about it.” He glanced at an open grip 
which lay on the table. “ You going away your- 
self, Mr. Howell?” 

“ Starting to-morrow.” 

“ Strains and pressures ? ” the boy asked, mis- 
chievously. 

“ Strains and pressures ; so you remember that, 
eh?” 

Mr. Howell was connected with the United 
States Bureau of Standards, and his business was 
to travel about the country making scientific tests 
which the boys had never been able to comprehend. 
And, following Gordon’s example, they had made 
a practice of speaking playfully of strains, pres- 
sures and so forth, much to Mr. Howell’s amuse- 
ment. 

“Yes, I’m testing a bridge near Chicago and 
some steel construction work in La Salle, then 
down to St. Louis for a few weeks with the folks.” 

“ Speaking of La Salle,” laughed Harry, “ re- 
minds me of Gordon; he’s threatening to dog my 
footsteps again.” 

Mr. Howell laughed. “ The boys are hoping to 
have him in St. Louis for a spell this summer.” 

“ And how are the boys ? ” 

“Fine — never tired of talking of Panama and 
of you and Mr. Conne. What a way he did have 
with boys, Harry ! ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


103 


“ Yes,” Harry mused; “ it seems to me one bad 
thing about traveling is that you meet people whom 
you like, but whom you’ll never see again. I dare 
say, Mr. Conne and his friends are in South Africa 
now, or maybe Labrador, or Alaska, ‘ filming up,’ 
as he used to call it. Probably I’ll never see him 
again. I often think of him and that funny way 
he had.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, Mr. Howell 
smiling pleasantly, and Harry thinking half-regret- 
fully of those two years at Panama and of his 
erstwhile friend, the motion-picture man. Then, 
as if suddenly recalled to the present, he said, 

“ Oh, by the way, Mr. Howell, you know every 
one in the scientific service, tell me about Captain 
Craig. He’s the one I have to report to in the 
Gulch.” 

“ Tell you about him!” laughed Mr. Howell. 
“ Why, what makes you think there is anything to 
tell about him ? ” 

“ I notice you’re laughing,” Harry ventured. 

“ What have you been hearing about him ? ” Mr. 
Howell asked slyly. 

“ Oh, nothing in particular, but over at the Sur- 
vey they mentioned his name more or less. Mr. 
Dalton said something to another man about 
handling the captain with a pair of tongs, and an- 
other fellow — a draftsman — who mentioned 
him said that if you’re going to ‘ set him ’ it’s best 
to use a long fuse.” 


104 


BOY SCOUTS 


Mr. Howell leaned back and laughed heartily. 

“ I guess he’s a good engineer from the way they 
spoke,” Harry added. 

“ He is a remarkable engineer,” said Mr. How- 
ell, soberly ; “ he is a genius.” 

“ Is he in full charge out there ? ” 

“ I think he is there at present more in an ad- 
visory capacity — but of that I’m not sure. It was 
he who made the reconnoissance survey of the 
Gulch and the whole drainage area. I suspect he 
had a good deal to do with planning the dam, too. 
He’s a wonderful man.” 

Still Mr. Howell smiled meditatively, as if se- 
cretly amused. 

“ Yes, the captain is a wonderful man,” he went 
on ; “ a wonderful engineer, and a great personal- 
ity. You’ll like him.” 

“ Everybody seems to feel that way,” said Harry, 
“ but they seem to smile, just as you do, when they 
speak of him, and somehow, I don’t just know why, 
I’m curious about him. They spoke of half a 
dozen engineers, but somehow, I seem to know him 
— or kind of feel him, as you might say — al- 
ready.” 

“ That’s what I mean by personality , Harry ; it 
spreads, you know, something like a contagion.” 

“ Is there anything special about him ? ” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you,” said Mr. Howell, rather 
more seriously, “ the captain is the * stormy petrel ’ 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


105 

of the service. He’s first of all an army man, you 
know, and he has a touch of the same trait that 
General Grant had, and General Sherman. He 
thinks of Washington as a group of politicians. 
He’s always being fretted by the red tape of the 
official system. He’s essentially a field man — a 
man of action. When he wants a thing, he wants 
it, and he thinks that the man off on the spot is the 
best judge. Usually, his little tiffs with Congress 
or ‘ the Office ’ are more amusing than anything 
else, and very often he carries the day. 

“ There are some who will tell you that he over- 
steps his authority at times, though not often, I 
suspect. When he was planning the irrigation sys- 
tem down in Texas, he ousted some trespassing 
mill-owners who were using government water, 
and there was a good deal of talk and fuss here 
about it’s being high-handed. He’s pretty decisive 
— the captain. 

“You know, Harry, Uncle Sam says not only 
that a thing must be made right, but that it must 
be made right in the right way. These people who 
work indoors, who make laws and rules, and keep 
books and records, they’re apt to be looked on as 
a stumbling-block by the men off in the fields. But 
that isn’t quite fair. Everything has to be done 
according to rule and system, you know. And 
sometimes a good rule or a good system causes 
delay or hardship or, it may be, a little individual 


io 6 


BOY SCOUTS 


injustice somewhere. The man in the field is apt 
to think only of his own immediate interest. — But 
I dare say, the captain’s little war with officialdom 
is more a joke than anything else. He’s very 
highly esteemed and very valuable. You’ll like 
him, Harry.” 

“ I bet I will,” said Harry. “ I like him al- 
ready.” 

“ He’s especially popular with the young fellows 
out in the field. Let me see your certificate, my 
boy; you say you report to him? Well, that’s fine 
and I congratulate you. You’ll utilize your 
drafting some also — that will be good practice. 
I see they mention your work at Panama. That 
will please the captain; he believes in practical be- 
ginnings.” 

“ And I must thank you for what you’ve done 
for me, Mr. Howell; I guess they wouldn’t have 
reached my name for severial years if it hadn’t 
been for you and Mr. Dalton.” 

Mr. Howell said nothing, only beamed approv- 
ingly at Harry, enjoying his high hopes and con- 
tagious enthusiasm. 

“ When the lake gets to filling and they know 
everything is all right,” said Harry, “ we’re com- 
ing down the Missouri, surveying and revetting, 
and strike the Mississippi — that’s the ‘ Old Lady,’ 
you know — before the Ohio gets busy. There’s 
a lot of levee work down below Cairo.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


107 


“ So you’re going to meet the ‘ Old Lady ’? ” 

“ Hope to — before she runs away with much 
more terra firma. They say they’ll get her into a 
straight- jacket some day; so you see, I’ve got my 
work cut out for me.” 

Mr. Howell fell to gazing at the boy again, pleas- 
antly, wistfully, as if he wished he might change 
places with him. 

“ Harry,” he said, meditatively, “ did you ever 
read anything about Lewis and Clarke? You’re 
going right out into the Lewis and Clarke country, 
my boy, where they had their chief adventures. 
One of their camping spots is within half a dozen 
miles of the Gulch. And there’s an old cache which 
they dug and stocked with goods somewhere out 
there, and were never able to find on their journey 
back. — You know what a cache is, don’t you, 
Harry?” 

“ It’s a hole, or some kind of a hiding-place made 
in the wilderness to store goods, isn’t it? I read 
about Peary leaving things in caches for those who 
were to come after him, or for his own return 
trip.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Howell, “and it seems funny 
to me to think of their being some place in the 
wilderness where goods were stored, and of no hu- 
man being knowing where it is. I’ve been reading 
about Lewis and Clarke lately and from all I can 
see, their Christian name, as you would say, Harry, 
— their Christian name was ‘ Adventure.’ ” 


io8 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Their middle name, if you want to get it just 
right/’ Harry laughed. 

Mr. Howell’s heroic efforts to master and adopt 
the boys’ vocabulary were amusing, and sometimes, 
taken in conjunction with his rotund form and bald 
head, almost touching. 

“ Is that a Great Northern time-table you’ve got 
there, Harry? Let’s see if it has a map — yes, a 
good one. Well, now, see here — Is there 
time?” he bethought him, suddenly. 

“ Oh, yes, piles of it,” said Harry ; “ go on, tell 
me all about it, Mr. Howell; I don’t have to leave 
till half past twelve, anyway.” 

It was from the map in this time-table that Harry 
had his first glimpse of the locality into which his 
new position was to take him. Following the pen- 
cil which Mr. Howell held, he traced the great 
Missouri from its confluence with the Mississippi, 
near St. Louis, backward along its pathway through 
the vast west. 

Mr. Howell’s pencil point finally rested on a spot 
among the Rocky Mountains in the southwestern 
part of Montana. 

“ And there’s her beginning,” said he ; “ that’s 
where she trickles down, just an insignificant little 
dribble, out of the mountains, and by the time that 
little trickle reaches the sea it has crossed or passed 
thirteen states ! ” 

Harry shook his head in silent wonder. “ I 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


109 


always thought the Hudson was a pretty big river,” 
said he, “ but this — I never realized it. They’d 
have some job accommodating a river like that in 
England, wouldn’t they ? ” 

“ It would have to be rolled up like a main- 
spring,” said Mr. Howell. “ Well, now, Harry, 
see here; there's where the Gulch is, just about 
there. I’m not going to tell you anything about the 
Gulch because you’ll find out all that when you get 
there, but you notice it isn’t on the Missouri, 
Harry?” 

His pencil point was resting on a spot in north- 
ern Montana where the great Missouri seemed to 
divide into two streams. One branch went north, 
the other in a southwesterly direction. All along 
the great river’s course, as Harry could see, small 
tributary streams flowed into it, but here it seemed 
to divide and he could not, for the life of him, de- 
cide which was the Missouri River, except for Mr. 
Howell’s remark. The Gulch, which was to be the 
scene of his labors in the immediate future, evi- 
dently lay along the course of the northerly stream, 
but very close to its confluence with the other. 

“ Now, Harry,” said Mr. Howell, folding the 
time-table and handing it back to him, “ I’ll tell you 
how Marias River came by its name, and who 
knows but some day you may root out the lost 
cache, what with your woods lore and scouting wis- 
dom ? ” 


no 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ And if I should — ” laughed Harry. 

“ Why, then you’d be a better scout than Cap- 
tain Clarke, and you’d find some very valuable 
mementoes, Indian clothing, specimens of plants 
and the like — the Smithsonian Institute can show 
you a list of them.” 

“ I’m afraid I won’t have much time for cache- 
hunting,” said Harry; “ but tell me about Lewis 
and Clarke, Mr. Howell; all I know is that they 
were the first to cross the continent.” 

“ They were that, Harry, with — with a consid- 
erable surplus.” 

“ With something left over, Mr. Howell?” 
laughed the boy, as he curled up on the sofa, his 
arms over his knees in characteristic fashion. 

“ Well, my boy, it begins with Napoleon Bona- 
parte wanting money. Thomas Jefferson was 
president then and pretty nearly every school-boy 
knows how he struck a bargain with Napoleon for 
most of the land west of the Mississippi River. 
In a word, Uncle Sam bought the Great West for 
fifteen million dollars. That was about eighteen 
hundred and four, you know. A good many people 
thought it was buying a pig in a poke, for nothing 
was known of the far west then. So President 
Jefferson conceived the notion that having bought 
that vast tract it might be a good idea to take a 
peep into it and see what it contained. And that’s 
how he happened to select Lewis and Clarke, two 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


hi 


young army captains, to ascend the great Missouri 
River, cross the Rockies and descend the Columbia 
to the Pacific, on the other side. And they did it. 
It was a great exploit, Harry. But this is the 
point. 

“ In the course of their long journey up the Mis- 
souri, they finally, after many months, reached the 
spot where you will be in three or four days. Just 
think of that! A year and a half to make a trip 
that you’ll make in less than a week! Well, they 
reached the parting of the ways — those two rivers 
— and they couldn’t decide which was the Mis- 
souri. And it was an important matter, for only 
by following the right river could they hope to find 
a pass through the mountains and strike the head- 
waters of the Columbia. 

“ Captain Lewis felt (as we are all of us apt to 
feel) that whichever way they took would prove 
to be the wrong one. So they divided their little 
party (there were twenty or thirty of them) into 
halves, each half to explore a branch, and to meet 
again at the same spot several days later and con- 
sider which branch they had better follow. The 
northern river was explored for some miles by 
Captain Clarke and it gave him so much trouble 
and perplexity, what with its baffling turns and 
dizzy banks, that he named it after a young lady 
acquaintance of his in Virginia, who had caused 
him much perplexity and many sleepless nights, and 


II 2 


BOY SCOUTS 


it continues to be called Maria’s River to this very 
day. It was following that stream that he passed 
through a deep valley, and all but lost his life by a 
fall from a cliff. That same valley, Harry, they 
now call Long Gulch, and it is by damming that up 
that the government is preparing to hold in check 
all the wild water 1 of that vast drainage area to 
prevent floods in the flood season, to furnish water 
in the dry season, and to irrigate great tracts of 
land. 

“ But this is what none of them out there seem 
to think of, Harry, that when the famous Lewis 
and Clarke party reunited at the confluence of those 
two rivers, just a little way below the Gulch, they 
camped for a while, and when they left they depos- 
ited many of the specimens they had collected, 
plants, Indian trophies, and clothing, and no end of 
interesting and valuable things, intending to un- 
earth them on the journey back. And there they 
are yet, Harry, for all the world knows, for Lewis 
and Clarke couldn’t for the lives of them find that 
particular cache. 

“ So that is the story of the lost cache, and some 
Sunday afternoon you must take a stroll down the 
river and see if you can find it,” laughed Mr. How- 
ell ; “ for you know there’s always a way, Harry.” 

1 Water flowing from hills and mountains as the result of 
melting ice and snow, and having no regular channels is 
known as wild water. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 113 

“Yes,” said Harry, laughing and rising to go; 
“ that’s Gordon’s expression, — but that’s a mighty 
interesting thing, Mr. Howell, when you come to 
think of it.” 

“ Of course, it is,” said Mr. Howell, cordially, 
“ that’s why I told you about it. — Have you time 
to catch your train? Oh, yes, nearly an hour to 
spare.” 

Harry had never before passed the night in a 
Pullman car and he was a long while getting to 
sleep. Outside on the dim platform, he could hear 
the occasional rolling of a hand-truck, and beyond 
the plush curtain, in the aisle of the car, there was 
the muffled tread of passengers coming in to their 
berths, the asking and answering of questions about 
tickets, breakfast, shines, stops, and through all, 
the modulated, respectful voice of the porter. 
Once or twice, he dozed, only to be startled into 
consciousness by some noisy arrival, the thud of a 
heavy grip on the car-floor, or perchance, that un- 
mistakable, familiar sound, the falling of a shoe. 

Once he was vaguely conscious of a voice saying 
something about dynamite — destroying a dam by 
dynamite; but he was not certain where the voice 
came from nor just what was said. Later, when 
he recollected that it had not startled him, or seemed 
at all unusual, he decided that he must have 
dreamed it. 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 14 

Then, pretty soon, some one said something, or 
he thought that some one said something, which 
caused him to sit up in his berth and rub his eyes. 
He thought it came from the station platform. 

“ All that Indian business is in the cache, ,, it 
said. 

Then, suddenly, there was a bump as the engine 
backed up to the train, and Harry’s head, out of 
sympathy, bumped into the woodwork behind him. 

“ Ouch ! ” said he. 

He lay down again and presently the train rolled 
softly off into the night and Harry rolled softly 
off into a strange, shadowy land which was neither 
wakefulness nor sleep. It was that delicious half- 
consciousness, imparted by the gently-rolling sleep- 
ing-car, and it conjured up in his languid mind a 
sort of jumble of all he had been talking of and 
listening to that evening. As usual in such a state, 
disconnected odds and ends of what had been said 
seemed to float before him without any particular 
meaning. He wondered what Mr. Howell had 
meant by calling Captain Craig a “ stormy petrel/’ 
He would hunt up stormy petrel. He began to 
picture Captain Craig to himself, his manner, his 
physique, his voice . . . He was conscious of a 
certain charm which that little dash of insubordina- 
tion (or what he fancied to be insubordination) 
gave the captain. For Harry was an out-and-out 
boy, when you come right down to it. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


US 


In his half-sleep he wondered what Mr. Howell 
had meant by saying that a good system might 
cause individual injustice. Could any kind of in- 
justice be good? But Mr. Howell had not said it 
was good; he had merely said . . . Then he won- 
dered whether it could possibly have been ham in- 
stead of dam that the voice had mentioned. But 
what an idea, to blow up a ham by dynamite. . . . 
He wondered who in the world could have made 
that remark about the cache. Strange, that two 
people in the same city should be using that same 
word. . . . Why no, nothing so strange about 
that. . . . Then he decided that it was strange, 
then that it wasn’t, then that it was, and then . . . 

Then, all of a sudden, it was broad daylight. 

But we are not to accompany Harry on his trip 
across the continent. Instead, we must go back for 
several weeks and follow events which were taking 
place elsewhere while he was still enjoying that 
fleeting springtime in Oakwood. 


CHAPTER X 


“ QUERY ” 

It was while the train which bore him across the 
continent was passing through the Bad Lands of 
Dakota, that Wesley Bin ford began that celebrated 
career of question-asking which was to win him 
both a position and a nickname, and which came 
perilously near to taking the place of a college 
education. I do not say that it took the place of a 
college education, but it came within an inch and 
a quarter of it. Even now, if you could get hold 
of Captain Craig (which might be difficult), he 
would throw his two arms into the air in a kind 
of good-humored despair and confess, as he con- 
fessed to Field Geographer Slade, in the Gulch, 
that never, never had he stood before such a fusil- 
lade as that discharged by the inquisitorial batter- 
ies of his young raw recruit. And he had been in 
the trenches at Santiago. 

“ Captain,” said Wesley, dropping into the seat 
beside him, “ may I ask you a question ? ” 

“ Shoot,” said the captain. 

“ Well, this is what I can’t understand; how can 
116 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


ii 7 

we prevent floods and things on the Mississippi 
River by going out to Montana? ” 

“Where’s Bobby, Wesley?” 

“ He’s in the smoking-room talking with some 
men.” 

“ He isn’t playing his harmonica, is he? ” 

“ No,” laughed Wesley. “ Of course, I under- 
stand that the Gulch lake will be good for irriga- 
tion, but I should think we would have stayed at 
the Mississippi and done whatever — ” 

“ Wesley, don’t you want to get me another pil- 
low out of my berth? I can’t seem to get my head 
comfortable here.” 

He was sunken far down on the seat, the back of 
his head already buried in one pillow, and his mind 
buried in a perfect carnival of figures which dis- 
ported themselves on the margins of a time-table, a 
used envelope, and even dimly upon the waxy sur- 
face of a paper drinking-cup. No available scrap 
had escaped, and they were marshaled along the 
window-sill and on the plush seat opposite. For 
two days he had been thus dead to the world. 

Time was when Wesley would have felt it be- 
neath his dignity to do such little personal services. 
Perhaps even now if the request had come from 
another source, he would not have been quite so 
ready to comply, but his admiration for Captain 
Craig was fast approaching hero-worship. Some- 
how the captain’s informal manner of comradeship 


n8 


BOY SCOUTS 


gave him the impression that he was beginning to 
be really liked. There was something about the 
captain which made it easy to be familiar with him, 
but which effectually precluded undue freedom. 
And there was no doubt that the captain was watch- 
ing the new boy’s sprouting interest in Uncle 
Sam’s big conservation enterprises, with amused 
approval. He had not expected it in such heroic 
doses. With Bobby Cullen, who was a sort of 
privileged character, there seemed to be a mutual 
understanding that he and the captain should make 
game of each other’s . foibles, and Wesley found 
himself cautiously venturing into this mischievous 
custom. 

When he came back with the pillow, he put it 
down behind the captain’s head, then offered him 
a canceled postage stamp and asked whether it 
mightn’t be useful for more figures, for it was a 
great joke with Bob and Wesley that the captain 
positively refused to figure on respectable sheets 
of paper. 

Captain Craig laughed heartily. “ What was 
that last one, Wesley? ” 

“ About going out to Montana to fight the Mis- 
sissippi.” 

“ Oh yes; well, now, if you were a general and 
there was a war, what would be the first thing to 
do ? Do you know ? ” 

“ N-no, sir.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


119 

“ To cut off your enemy’s base of supplies, Wes- 
ley. Now you go and sit down over there and think 
that over and see what you make of it.” 

“ Thank you,” said W esley. 

The captain poised his fountain pen. 

“ Any others just now? ” 

“ N-no, sir,” said the boy, blushing a trifle; 
“ Pm sorry to have trou — ” 

“ No trouble at all, Wesley; that’s the way to 
learn.” 

“ Well, we’ll be there to-morrow, anyway.” 

“ That’s what we will.” 

The boy hesitated. “ Whatever I do, Captain, 
I hope I’ll be — be under you.” 

“ That’s my idea, Wesley, to have an eye out 
for you. And I mean to fix it so you and Bobby 
can bunk together. How does that strike you?” 

“ Great — fine ! ” 

He had been meaning for two days past to ask 
the captain this question. He knew that he was to 
be only “ common help,” and he feared that he 
might be lost in the shuffle and lose track of his 
benefactor. 

When he sat down and began to think he saw 
what the captain meant by cutting off an enemy’s 
base of supplies, and it was borne in upon him what 
a stupendous business was this task of conserva- 
tion which embraced the whole wide country in its 
well-ordered scheme, which marshaled trickling 


* 


120 


BOY SCOUTS 


mountain streams, wrenching their united power 
from them to turn the wheels of manufacture; 
which was changing deserts into billowed seas of 
wheat and corn, and throttling and imprisoning the 
wild waters of the West before they could devas- 
tate the East. It is doubtful if Wesley had ever 
felt proud of anything or anybody except Wesley 
Binford. But now he began to feel proud of the 
government which could originate these gigantic 
strategies to circumvent and checkmate Nature, of 
Uncle Sam who knew how to set his great house 
in order. There was something so big, so auda- 
cious, about it all! — That was what he made of it. 

As he glanced across the aisle at that com- 
paratively young man, up to his ears in figures and 
with no weapon but a fountain-pen, he thought (oh, 
but he was thinking these days!) how Captain 
Craig regarded our whole vast country as a colossal 
game-board, where the works of Nature could be 
moved about and rearranged, and he marveled then 
(and he marveled more afterward) that mountains 
and canons, and rivers and falls and valleys should 
be so amenable and that men should be so strong. 

On the whole, he was glad that he was not work- 
ing for the Forbes Perfumery Company, even on 
the liberal basis of Saturday afternoons all the year 
round. He was a little ashamed that he had ever 
thought of Saturday afternoons in connection with 
his life’s work. He was sorry he had spoken so 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


121 


to Sparrow. But he was glad to reflect that it had 
been to Sparrow and not to Captain Craig. . . . 

At about noon next day the train stopped at a 
little shack, a mere shed enclosed on all sides ex- 
cept the one facing the rails, before which there 
was a small platform. On a rough board, in 
rougher letters, was printed, GULCH STATION, 
U.S.A., but whether the capitals meant that it be- 
longed to the United States or were intended to 
reassure skeptical arrivals that it was in the United 
States, Wesley did not know. It seemed incredible 
that he could have traveled so far and still be in 
the United States. For the whole previous day 
they had been rattling across prairie lands, then a 
lonely tree had presented itself, then another, and 
then they had grown quite bold, appearing in little 
groups, until here at last they had courageously 
mustered themselves into an exceptionally large 
grove or a miniature forest, whichever you chose 
to call it. And in the grateful shade of this sur- 
rounding growth, isolated and remote, stood Gulch 
Station. 

There was no Gulch Station on the time-table; 
it seemed wholly undignified for a great, thunder- 
ing train to stop here, but stop it did and as Wesley 
alighted he saw a big wagon, with stout, heavy- 
tired wheels, and a team of husky-looking horses, 
waiting. It had an arching canvas cover, which 


122 


BOY SCOUTS 


looked to Wesley like the spray-hood of a motor- 
boat, and on its seat were two men, one a young 
fellow in a belted khaki suit, who wore spectacles, 
and the other a burly man of perhaps thirty or 
more, in flannel shirt and overalls, who wore a felt 
slouch hat with ventilation holes cut in it regard- 
less of pattern or order. It was also ostentatiously 
decorated with round celluloid pins of the campaign 
variety, advertising various kinds of tobacco, silver 
polish, and so forth. In his mouth was a corn-cob 
pipe, upside down. He was the first to speak. 

“ Hulloa, Cap’n, and t’same ter you, Bobby ; did 
ye fetch me accordia ? ” 

“ Oi did thot ! ” mocked Bobby. 

“ Is there anny moore o’ thim bags, Cap’n ? ” 

“ Just these,” said the captain, indicating about 
a dozen canvas bags which the baggage man had 
thrown upon a little pile of similar ones, already on 
the platform. “ How are you, Mike? Well, Bert, 
how are things ? It’s good to see you. — Here, Wes- 
ley, this is Mr. Walters, who’s on the map work. 
Bert, I want you to know Wesley Binford; he’s 
going to help us out. Shake hands with him, Mike ; 
this is the Honorable M. Kerrigan, Wesley, leader 
of the Gulch band.” 

The train pulled slowly off, the fireman waved 
his hand to the little party, the slow, strained puff- 
ing became rapid and regular, and there was a cer- 
tain sense of loneliness imparted to Wesley by the 



THEN, AMID RISING CLOUDS OF BROWN DUST, HE HURLED THE LADEN BAGS, ONE AFTER ANOTHER, 

INTO THE WAGON." 







ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


123 


diminishing rear platform of the last car. And yet 
miles and miles of country would that train cover 
and still be in the United States. 

The “ Honorable M. Kerrigan ” came out of the 
wagon, took an enormous bandanna handkerchief 
from his pocket and tied it around the lower part 
of his head in such a way as to cover his nose and 
mouth. Then, amid rising clouds of brown dust, 
he hurled the laden bags, one after another, into 
the wagon. 

“ Why does he do that, Bob?” asked Wesley. 

“ Because he doesn't want to have his stomach 
lined with concrete.” 

Then Wesley realized that the bags contained 
cement, in powder form, and that the addition of 
a little moisture to this in the human system might 
have dangerous results. 

“ An’ if Oi did hev it lined wid concrete it ud 
be a good thing in your camp.” 

This was a slur at Bobby's culinary accomplish- 
ments and he did not let it pass unnoticed. 

“ Did you hear the latest from Washington, 
Mike? That they're going to take all the Irish 
away from the Gulch?” 

“ They’ll hev ter take the Cap'n thin — he's 
Irish.” 

“ So, Captain?” ventured Wesley. 

“ I'm about one-third Irish,” said the captain, 
taking a hand in the bag-throwing. 


124 


BOY SCOUTS 


“An’ thot’s the thirrd thut counts,” said Ker- 
rigan ; “ here’s the last wan, and oop she goes ! ” 

When they had all piled into the wagon, the old- 
established war between Mike and Bobby proceeded 
in real earnest. 

“ Wall, how’s the East coomin’ along?” 

“ ’Tisn’t coming along; we left it behind.” 

“ I see ye’re jist as fresh as iver. — How much 
do Oi owe ye fer th’ accordia?” 

“ Oh, I got it cheap — bought it from an Ital- 
ian.” 

“ A fwhatf ” 

“ A Dutchman — he was half Dutch and half 
Italian ; he said the Irish — ” 

“ How much wuz it ? ” 

He took a rawhide wallet from his pocket and 
proceeded to pay Bobby the just debt of two dol- 
lars and fifty cents. 

“ And what are you doing to jolly Uncle Sam 
into paying you these days, Mike ? ” 

“ Oi’m not thravellin’ all oover the counthry, but 
here attendin’ to me worrk. Ye wuz oop thim Jer- 
sey rivers, I hear.” 

“ We lined up the Raritan and the Passaic in — ” 

“Ya-as; wall, ye’ll hev ter settle down now ter 
reel worrk, Oi’m thinkin’. Ye can’t go flirtin’ wid 
th’ Mississouri in anny sich way.” 

“ But what do you chore at when you do work, 
Mike?” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


125 


“ G’lang,” said Mike to the horses. 

“Of course, you work, sometimes ” 

“ Oi’ve been worrkin’ enuff to upset some o’ yur 
precious contoor lines fer ye — Oi kin tell ye thot.” 

“They still let you bunk in Cabin X?” 

“ Who’ll put me out? — G’lang! ” 

“ I thought Jan might.” 

“Thot Swade!” 

“ You see, Mike, those Swedes have heavy work 
to do and they need their sleep.” 

“ The’s not wan o’ thim kin loop a stump.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me you’re still drawing 
stumps ? Why, I thought you’d have that done two 
months ago.” 

This was too much for Mike and he embraced 
the occasion which Wesley offered by asking a ques- 
tion, to vent his scorn. 

“What does drawing stumps mean?” Wesley 
asked innocently. 

Kerrigan, half turning, apparently addressed him. 

“ Ther’ is soom people thinks ye kin make a 
storage lake wid fountain-pens an’ ivory roolers six 
inches long an’ blue paper an’ sich like — ” 

Captain Craig began to laugh silently. He en- 
joyed Mike immensely and the Irishman’s opinions 
on engineering feats were as famous as those of 
the captain himself — in a way. 

“ ’Twas th’ same down at Panamar. T’ Ould 
Man wuz all roight ter guvern, but who wuz it ter 


126 


BOY SCOUTS 


haul off an’ give th’ face uv Naturre an upperr- 
cut — ” 

“ That was you, Mike,” said Bobby. 

“ Wall, yoong feller,” he continued, at Wesley, 
“ ’tis loike th’ Duke uv Yorrkshire out here in th’ 
Gulch — him that marrched his men oop th’ hill 
jist so’s to marrch thim down agin. Ther’ is half 
uv us cuttin’ down trees and th’ other half plantin’ 
new wans.” 

The captain chuckled again and winked at Wes- 
ley. 

“ Mebbe they’ll git it to suit soom day — 
G’lang! ” 

“ You didn’t tell him what looping a stump is,” 
said the captain. 

“ Wall,” said Mike, “ ye can’t troost anny o’ 
thim L.H.’s 1 to loop a stoomp. It looks aisy loike, 
but ye hev ter hev a Civil Service man.” 

“ You just have to,” said Bobby, mischievously. 

“ Are you a Civil Service man?” Wesley asked, 
innocently. 

“ Fwhat! ” said Mike, amid general laughter. 
“ Oi’ve had me certificate this eight monts — ivver 
sence Oi left t’ ditch.” 

“ Mike’s got a life contract with Uncle Sam,” 
said Walters. 

“ G’lang,” said Mike, with an air of solemn tri- 
umph. “ Wall,” he continued to Wesley, “ ye hev 

1 Local help. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


127 


ter pull oot the stoomps, roots and all ; they do that 
wid a windlass an’ this same team, an’ ye’ve got 
ter loop the stoomp so’s th’ chain’ll hold — it looks 
aisy.” 

“ But don’t be deceived,” said Bobby. 

“ Oi’ll show ye,” said Mike, “ you coom up by 
East Hill.” 

“ I will, Mi — Mr. Kerrigan, if I get a chance,” 
said Wesley. 

“ Ye’re a C.S.,” 2 said Mike, as if that were a 
settled matter. 

“ N-no, I’m not,” said Wesley. 

The captain sobered up and spoke to Walters. 
To Wesley it seemed as if Mike’s mention of East 
Hill had suggested the question. 

“ How about that erosion over there? ” he asked. 

“ It’s pretty bad,” said Walters. 

“ The Forestry people doing anything?” 

“ They’ve set up a couple of thousand saplings 
— about covered the slope. They say the erosion 
is up to us.” 

The captain whistled to himself. “ I suppose it 
is,” said he. “ Any water coming down ? ” 

“ A little — but it’s a late season, Captain, that’s 
one good thing. We took the contours over there 
last week and there’s a lot of silt coming down.” 

“ Hmm — that’ll have to be looked into.” 

“ Have to be deflected, I suppose ? ” 

2 Civil Service. 


128 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Yes, I’ll look it over to-morrow. ,, 

“ Fwhat ye want fer that,” said Mike, spitting 
out of the wagon, “ is soom o’ thim drain ditch peo- 
ple frum Panamar.” 

“ Did you hear anything about sending some of 
that excavation crowd out here?” asked Walter. 

“ I wasn’t in Washington. They sent Mack off 
on irrigation — he would have been just the one.” 

“ I thought you had him nailed down, Captain,” 
said Walter. 

“ I thought so, too,” said the captain, dryly. 
“ Anybody arching? ” 

“ I haven’t been below the dam in a week,” an- 
swered Walters. 

Of course, this was all Greek to Wesley, and it 
discouraged him to hear this technical shop-talk and 
to think how hard he would have to study to under- 
stand it. It was disheartening — like beginning to 
study algebra. Yet Mike evidently understood it, 
so why should not he? At all events, he had 
brought with him that faithful friend in need, his 
tongue. 

“ What is erosion, Captain ? ” 

Mike looked around and winked at Walters. 
Wesley had a vague feeling that they were laugh- 
ing at him. 

“ It’s the action of water on loose land,” said the 
captain. “You see, if water passes over land 
which isn’t held compact by roots, the land will be 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


129 

washed away, and that washing away is called 
erosion.” 

“ An’ when it gits into the water they call it silt,” 
volunteered Mike. 

“ Thank you,” said Wesley. 

“ Not at ahl,” said Mike, as if he had given all 
the information. 

“ So now ye’ll know if ye root away a tree frum 
a hillside, ’tis t’ same as thrrowin’ mud in a river. 
Ye know ’tis th’ straw that holds bricks tegither, 
don’t ye? Wall, ’tis th’ same wid land.” 

“And deflection?” Wesley asked, hesitatingly. 

“ Deflection, Mr. Query,” said Mike, “ is t’ make 
the water tak’ a lang cut roond.” 

“ Till the young trees are well started,” added 
Walters. 

“ Sure, anny fool knows that,” said Mike. 
“ G’lang ! ” 

“ But — but why do you draw stumps then ? ” 
asked Wesley. 

“ That’s from land that will be below the water- 
line,” said the captain. “ I may take you up to 
East Hill to-morrow, Wesley.” 

Wesley said nothing, but he felt that Walters was 
a little surprised and was looking at him sharply. 

For fully an hour they had been rumbling along 
a rough road through a rather hilly and compara- 
tively open country. Not a sign of life was there, 
nor vestige of human habitation. At last they 
rounded a hill. 


130 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ There you are, Mr. Query,” said Mike, pointing 
with his whip. 

Wesley looked down into a long, irregular val- 
ley in which rock and vegetation were profuse and 
intermingled. The farther end of it seemed two 
or three miles away and its width was perhaps a 
mile or more. It was not a symmetrical hollow, 
but a great rough-hewn gulch, containing in- 
numerable small valleys within it, the whole being 
completely encompassed by green hills. Through 
the bottom of the valley a river wound irregularly 
and disappeared between precipitous rocky heights. 
Between these cliffs, reaching across from one to 
the other and curving inward toward the valley, 
was a conspicuous whitish mass almost as high as 
the cliffs themselves, whose color and regularity 
showed it to be the work of man. It vied well with 
the general aspect of strength which the hills and 
rocks conveyed; it did not cower among them but 
rose, majestic and formidable, as if able to cope with 
them and do its part. Yet it looked strangely out 
of keeping with the tremendous, wild, disorderly 
gulch whose outlet it was to close. There was a 
kind of refinement about its smooth, towering mass, 
a suggestion of scientific orderliness and plan. It 
did not seem to boast and swagger like those frown- 
ing hills and great boulders. There was the same 
difference between it and those rough works of Na- 
ture that there is between a regiment and a great 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


131 

mob. It stood there, a stranger, in this wild en- 
vironment, trim, clean, ready, precise, like Captain 
Craig himself. It seemed to know its business and 
its own strength, and could not be bullied. It had 
been stationed there by the United States of Amer- 
ica to forbid the waters to pass, though as yet they 
flowed, unchallenged, around it. Wesley Binford 
was glad that he belonged to the United States of 
America. 

Close to this great dam, on a level with its sum- 
mit, was a concrete building of fair size, flying the 
Stars and Stripes. And all over the valley, save 
on- the lowest land, were little cabins. They 
perched on the edges of minor cliffs; they clustered 
cozily into little communities, here and there, and 
some could be faintly discerned among the trees 
just above the valley on the other side. 

Donkey-engines, stone-crushing machines, board- 
walks over swampy areas, several tents, and pigmy 
people busy with he knew not what — all these were 
visible, in panoramic view, to Wesley as they drove 
along the brink of the valley. Far off, toward the 
upper end, was a large area of gently sloping land, 
and here, as far as he could see, a perfect wilderness 
of slender trees extended up the slope and into the 
high country beyond. The effect was much more 
symmetrical and methodical than the rough-and- 
tumble ways of Nature usually produce. 

“ There ye are, that’s East Hill,” said Mike. 


132 


BOY SCOUTS 


It was hard to see how there could be any easy 
descent into this place, but before Wesley knew it 
instead of looking down into it he was looking up 
out of it at the road along its brink and trying to 
figure how he had come down. The wagon rattled 
along, past cabins, past men working alone and in 
groups, doing strange things in swamps, digging 
where there was apparently no reason for it, but 
none were too busy to doff their hats to Captain 
Craig and sometimes to stare at Wesley. Bobby’s 
welcome, though less dignified and respectful, was 
equally cordial. 

“ Oh, you Bobby Cullen!” 

“ Hello, Scotchy,” called Bob. 

“ Just in time for the concert.” 

“ Hey, there, Robert — how’s pancakes ? ” 

“Hello, you old Jersey mosquito!” 

“ Oh, you line-work loafer ! ” 

“ Oh, you survey-grafter ! ” 

“ Where’s Mack?” 

“ He got tagged.” 

“ I told him to keep his fingers crossed in Wash- 
ington.” 

“ They tagged him on the wing,” called Bobby. 
“You’ll be the next.” 

“ Better knock wood yourself, Bobby.” 

“Who’s that guy?” 

“ He’s a boy friend,” said Bobby, poking his head 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


133 

forward in grotesque imitation of the feminine man- 
ner. 

“ Oh, dear, dear ! ” called a grimy youth who was 
rolling up a surveyor’s tape. 

They stopped before a large cabin which seemed 
to be a kind of storehouse and office, and Captain 
Craig went inside for a minute. A man who looked 
like a story-book cowboy came out and chatted with 
Bobby. 

“ Hello, Sancho Panza,” said he ; “ how’s the 
teacher’s pet ? ” 

Captain Craig came out, stuffing a paper into the 
band of his hat. A little further on they drew up 
before a cabin and Bobby, hopping out, said, “ Here 
we are, Wes.” 

It was Bobby’s own cabin. Sometimes he had 
a companion, and sometimes he lived in it in solitary 
grandeur — save for the consoling strains of his 
harmonica. Sometimes he was away for weeks, 
east, west, south, north, but it was “ Bobby’s cabin ” 
just the same. According to the big white letter 
outside, it was “ Cabin L.” But who cared for the 
white letter? Bobby was too much of a personal- 
ity to go by a letter. Other people might “ bunk ” 
in A, B, C or in 4, 5, 7, 9, or anything you please. 
But this was “ Bobby’s cabin.” And Bobby did his 
own housekeeping. That was why he had been 
greeted as “ Pancakes.” 


134 


BOY SCOUTS 


It was something of a distinction to bunk with 
Bobby. . . . 

Bobby was busy that afternoon, part of the time 
with Captain Craig in the cement building near the 
dam, and later in performing the feat of turning a 
requisition slip into a little store of provisions, which 
he brought home in a bright red wheelbarrow with 
the letters, U.S. on it. Wesley wandered about 
looking over his new home and the work in which 
he was to have a part. He paused before donkey- 
engines which were pumping swamps or hauling 
logs, and watched the mechanism. He had been so 
very much engrossed with being a real worldly 
sort of fellow that the fascination of machinery 
(dear to the hearts of most boys) had never touched 
him. But now he was curious and asked questions, 
and burly, competent men, who understood these 
things, answered his innocent interrogations cheer- 
fully, sometimes jocosely. And he remembered and 
pondered on what he heard and saw. 

He watched the stone being crushed for the great 
dam and strolled down and looked at the dam it- 
self. There, in the spillway, were the turbines 
which would extract the power from the falling 
water and send it along wires, hundreds and hun- 
dreds of miles, to light cities. He wandered 
through here to the outside and there, on a scaf- 
fold against the vast white area of the concave sur- 
face of the dam, was a young fellow making chalk- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


135 


marks as on a blackboard, white rings all over the 
lower part of the surface. This must be circling, 
he thought. Inside each circle was a faint crooked 
line which could hardly be called a crack. The cir- 
cle was to call attention to it for inspection. Men 
in khaki, others in overalls, came and went briskly. 
Two were talking about “ grouting” ; Wesley won- 
dered what “ grouting ” meant. A young fellow 
with a surveyor’s transit over his shoulder passed 
in, stopping to speak to some one who told him that 
the captain had come. Wesley felt almost jealous 
that others should be so much closer to the captain 
than he was. 

He was not unhappy. On the contrary, he was 
hopeful and full of resolution to do his best. He 
was a little timid about his ability, it was all so 
new and strange to him, but he felt that things 
could never go far wrong if he did his best. He 
would just take things as they came and do his very 
level best. At the end of a month he would be 
paid, and then. . . . 

As he wandered about he wondered what he 
would be set to doing. 

But the hardest job which Wesley Binford had 
to tackle was not there for him to see. And 
though he was ready with brain and muscle (with 
his two hands and feet, as he liked to say) still, 
the job which the boy had to tackle was after all 
one that was not to be done with hands and feet, 


136 


BOY SCOUTS 


nor with brains either, if it comes to that. It was 
something which Captain Craig could not teach 
him. 

And, wrong or right, he did that one job in his 
own way. 


CHAPTER XI 


EAST HILL 

A nickname, like vaccination, either takes or it 
doesn’t, and when Mike turned around in the wagon 
and addressed Wesley as “ Query,” he uncon- 
sciously administered a knock-out blow to the boy’s 
real name. So far as the Gulch was concerned, 
there was an end of Wesley Binford. The name 
of “ Query ” spread like a contagion and though 
some in the big camp remained unaware of its or- 
igin, every one used it, and Wesley accepted the in- 
evitable amiably. Bobby alone ignored it, but 
Bobby was a law unto himself. 

As a rule a nickname implies popularity and there 
was a certain likable quality in Wesley, a winning 
naturalness which was very apparent now that the 
tarnish of affectation and swagger was rubbed off. 
This attractiveness was heightened by a certain 
timidity and deference which he displayed in the 
camp among these strange, strenuous, efficient toil- 
ers. He watched them almost enviously. He had 
a feeling that though they seemed to like him, they 
looked down on him in a way, as on one who had 
not much useful knowledge. 

137 


138 


BOY SCOUTS 


It was the seventh week of his life at Long Gulch 
and he was seated at a little folding-table under 
the window of the cabin which he shared with 
Bobby, lettering maps and diagrams. It was not 
a particularly interesting task, but it gave him a 
good idea of the work that was going forward both 
inside and outside of the Gulch, for some of the 
sheets that were brought to him came from the ir- 
rigation district fifty miles down the Missouri, while 
others were brought in by the “ survey boys ” and 
represented their labors in the rough country 
roundabout the Gulch. 

So far as the Gulch itself was concerned, the 
work was nearly over; they were just pulling to- 
gether the loose threads, as Bobby said, before the 
flooding from the hillsides began in real earnest. 
Already water was trickling into this vast prison, 
and some of the cabins had been moved up a ledge 
or two in the irregular valley. Day in and day 
out, for seven weeks had Wesley sat working pa- 
tiently, pausing now and then for a moment to rest 
his weary eyes or to chat with some passerby who 
stopped and leaned his arms on the rough window- 
ledge. He wished that he could be outside in the 
thick of the hard work, but since he could not he 
was glad that these grim, burly, hustling fellows 
were moved to stop and have a word with him, now 
and then. 

At five o’clock on this particular day he laid down 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


139 


his pen with a long sigh, closed his eyes tight, and 
shook his head sideways to ease the pain in the 
back of his neck which the continuous eye-strain 
caused. But through all this toiling, monotonous 
day one thought had cheered him. In one more 
week he would receive his hard-earned fifty dollars 
and then his debt to Harry Arnold would be almost 
paid. 

He had expected to send one-half of the amount 
to Harry at the end of the first month, but through 
some government red tape, owing to his having been 
brought from the East and yet being classified as 
“ local help,” his name had not found its proper 
place on the payroll until about five weeks after he 
reached the Gulch, and he was therefore to receive 
two months’ pay at the end of the second month. 
This had been a great disappointment to Wesley. 
He had often looked wistfully into the little cabin 
postoffice in envy of those who sent and received 
letters, for he and he alone seemed to have no world 
outside of the Gulch. But he had stifled these 
thoughts by thinking how he would soon march in 
and send this money, every cent of it, to Oakwood. 
He had no need for money here in the Gulch. And 
then at the end of another week of headaches. . . . 

“ H’lo, Wes!” 

Bobby came in like a breeze, as he always did, 
dropped his transit into a corner, towsled the hair 
on the back of Wesley’s head by way of greeting, 
and sprawled crossways on his couch. 


1/\D 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Headache again, old man ? ” 

“ N-no — not much.” 

“ Anybody round to-day? ” 

“ Haven’t seen a soul.” 

“ Why don’t you lie down here and close your 
peepers while I get supper ? ” 

“ It’s my turn,” protested Wesley. 

“Yes, it is — not; accent on the not — my frap- 
tious boy. You couldn’t make hunter’s stew, any- 
way; you got to have a Civil Service man to do 
that. You know the captain is very particular 
about those little matters.” 

“ I hear they’re going to begin cleaning out a lot 
of local help,” said Wesley. “Did you hear?” 

“ Don’t you worry,” said Bobby. “ Why, boy, 
your lettering is the talk of the town.” He kicked 
off one of his muddy shoes, which caught Wesley 
in the back. “ Pardon me” he said, effeminately. 
“ The captain will look after you, don’t worry.” 

“Just the same I wish I was C.S.,” said Wesley. 

Bobby kicked off the other shoe and sat up on 
the couch staring, half contemptuously, at Wesley. 

“ You don’t mean to tell me that’s really troubling 
you? Why, you great big Jersey mosquito, you 
make me tired. The captain’s got you slated — ” 

“ I know, Bob, but the captain isn’t Uncle Sam, 
after all — ” 

“ What the captain says, goes,” interrupted 
Bobby. “You take that from me. — What you 
need is some stew.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


141 

" I thought maybe the captain had forgotten me.” 

“ Yes, you did ! You know better. He’s mighty 
busy, that’s all, Wes.” 

Wesley laughed apologetically. He was so anx- 
ious to carry out his plan of restitution that he was 
in a continual nervous apprehension that something 
would happen to prevent. And since he had been 
set at work lettering the maps he had scarcely seen 
Captain Craig. “ Well,” he said, cheered by Bob- 
by’s very presence, as he always was, “ I’ve got a 
question.” 

“ Shoot away, Query! Still at it?” said the 
genial voice of Mike as he entered the cabin, filthy 
but cordial, leaving his weary team grazing outside. 

“ It’s about East Hill, too,” said Wesley. 

“ Oi’m jist down frum there,” said Mike. 

Wesley took up one of the maps he had been 
lettering. “ Of course, it’s none of my business,” 
said he, “ but I understood from the way you peo- 
ple talked that first day I came that the purpose of 
these ditches is to carry the water around the edge 
of East Hill so it won’t be washing the soil away 
from those newly-planted trees — erosion, I think 
you called it.” 

“ Right ye are ! ” said Mike, as he and Bobby 
looked over Wesley’s shoulder at the map. 

“ Well, then, it looks to me from this sheet that 
they’re digging about c mile and a half more ditch 
than necessary. Here are two branches of a 


142 


BOY SCOUTS 


stream and both of them cross this new-tree area. 
They’re starting to make a ditch to deflect each one. 
Now on this other map you see the two branches 
divide way up in the woods. Why don’t they be- 
gin the ditch up above that point? Then they’d 
only need one ditch instead of two. Here’s a place 
where they could dig a ditch a hundred yards to a 
natural hollow going way down the south edge of 
East Hill. Instead they’re making one three-quar- 
ters of a mile long. They’re digging up the whole 
country up toward the top of East Hill to prevent 
erosion lower down. It’s like winding string every 
which-way around a bundle. Why not begin your 
deflecting above the branches? Just a couple of 
shovelfuls would turn a small stream. It’s some- 
thing like those cut-offs that you talk of down the 
Mississippi.” 

“ Ye niver said a*thruer worrd,” said Mike, after 
this long speech. “ Fwhat we nade oop there is some 
of thim boys frum Panamar, as kin dig ditches wid 
their brains.” 

“ Well,” said Bobby, “ we’re going to have a reg- 
ular pest of them soon, if what I hear is true. Half 
a dozen of those Culebra Cut fellows are scheduled 
to hit us in a couple of weeks or so.” 

“ Query’s roight, an’ he’s got a good brain — 
Oi’ll say that fur ’im. Fwhat they nade oop yon- 
der is exparience — that’s fwhat they nade. The 
cap’n don’t bother his head about it. ’Tis all dam, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


143 


dam, dam, wid him. An’ fwhat does th’ Forestry 
people care s’long’s th’ trees is protected? Wan 
mile or tin mile uv ditch, ’tis all th’ same ter thim.” 

“ Oh, I guess it’s all right/’ said Bobby ; “ don’t 
worry that old nut of yours about the ditches, 
Wes.” 

“ But just look at the map,” urged Wesley, as 
Bobby turned away to his stew. 

“ Fwhat they nade is exparience,” repeated 
Mike, sagaciously. 44 Brains is all roight, but — 
Now, ter show ye, there wuz a feller out o’ wan o’ 
thim institutes — he coom down ter Panamar an’ 
they give him four men and started ’em on a sani- 
tary trench 1 from Spig Village to Corozal. Fwhat 
did he do? Afther diggin’ fer t’ree days he came 
to a crossing of anither ditch. An’ he scratched 
his head loike, fer, sez he, 4 there wuz not supposed 
to be anny ditches ter cross. Wall,’ sez he, 
4 here’s one that’s not on the map, an’ Oi’ll folly it 
oop jist fer ter see where it goes.’ So he lays down 
his pick and goes afther the other ditch, an’ along 
about dusk he brings oop at th’ same spot where 
he laid down his pick. 4 Be jiggers,’ sez he, 
scratchin’ his head, 4 if thim Spaniards hasn’t got 
th’whole land bewitched.’ Then oop come Flynn, 
his man, an’ him as told me the sthory — oop come 
Flynn, an’ sez he, 4 ’Tis the same thrench only we 
got it tied in a sailor’s knot!’ Wall, sir, it tuk 
thim t’ree weeks — ” 

1 Swamp drainage. 


144 


BOY SCOUTS 


At this juncture a pillow from the couch caught 
Mike in the face, effectually cutting off further 
recital. 

“ Fwhat they nade,” he concluded, “ is expari- 
ence. Are yez cornin’ t’the concert to-night in 
Cabin B ? ” 

“ We’ll drop in later,” said Bobby, as he fell to 
setting the table. 

They could hear Mike’s sonorous “ G’lang ! ” to 
the horses, as he turned homeward. 

“ Mike’s daft on the subject of Panama, isn’t 
he? ” laughed Wesley. “ But I dare say he’s right 
about their needing experience up there.” 

“ Experience nothing ! ” said Bobby. “ They’re 
all right. There’s only half a dozen L.H.’s up 
there now, but they know how to dig ditches, all 
right, you can bet. The government was going to 
send out a young man to look after all that business 
six months ago, just after the Forestry people 
planted the trees for us, but he must have taken a 
mighty slow train, for he isn’t here yet. That’s 
the way it is. The captain’s been so busy he hasn’t 
even been up there, nor either of the other engi- 
neers. But the L.H. fellows are doing all right by 
themselves. — You’ve got ditches on the brain.” 

“ But, Bobby, don’t you see — ” persisted Wes- 
ley. 

“ See nothing,” interrupted Bobby. “ What do 
you know about ditches anyway ? — Come on to 
supper.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


145 


The next morning when Wesley awoke he saw 
that Bobby had made an early cup of coffee and 
departed. Also the map which Wesley had shown 
him had departed. 

“ Wonder what he’s up to,” mused Wesley. 

He was destined to know before long, for 
scarcely had he cleared away his own breakfast 
things when Captain Craig walked briskly into the 
cabin. He was without his belted jacket, wearing 
a khaki negligee shirt instead, and a brown silk 
handkerchief tucked in around his throat. 

“ Well, Wesley, how goes it? What’s all this I 
hear about East Hill? You’re not satisfied with 
the way things are going on up there, eh ? ” 

“ I didn’t mean to criticise, Captain. — I guess — 
did you see Bobby ? ” 

“Yes; he says you don’t like the way they’re 
digging those deflection ditches. He brought me 
this map.” 

Wesley was uncomfortable. He felt that he had 
been too free with his criticism of what did not 
concern him, and he thought the captain felt the 
same way. His brisk, alert manner disconcerted 
Wesley. 

“I — I — maybe I didn’t get just the right idea 
of it from the map — I suppose it’s just a rough 
sketch, anyway — ” And to himself he thought, 
“ I’ll jump all over Bobby for this.” 

“ The sketch is all right,” said the captain. 


146 


BOY SCOUTS 


crisply. “ So you think there’s a couple of miles 
too much ditch, eh ? ” 

“I did — but — ” 

“ But what?” 

" Oh, all sorts of things occur to me when I’m 
working on the maps. I guess most of them are 
pipe dreams.” 

“Of course, Wesley, if you haven’t the courage 
of your convictions, if you have no confidence in 
yourself, you can hardly expect us to have confi- 
dence in you. I’m here to get the benefit of your 
thought. You and I and Bobby are all working 
for the government. Uncle Sam isn’t so rich and 
great that he can afford to disregard an honest ex- 
pression of opinion.” 

“ I didn’t suppose I had any business to — ” 

“ Well, you have,” the captain interrupted. 
“ Now tell me what your idea is.” 

Wesley went over the maps more thoroughly 
than he had with Bobby, and the captain listened 
thoughtfully, occasionally shaking his head in 
doubt, or nodding a qualified approval. Once 
when Wesley pointed to a place where he thought 
a quarter of a mile could be saved, he said, “ A hun- 
dred feet would be nearer ; ” apparently willing to 
concede that something could be saved. He passed 
from one map to another, spreading his little pocket 
dividers here and there, pursing his lips, shaking 
his head. . . . 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


147 


Wesley had no idea what the sum of his thought 
was, but he was amazed at his mental activity and 
open-mindedness. There was no professional 
pride and dignity about the captain, and Wesley, 
uncertain of himself as he was, marveled that he 
(a mere inexperienced boy) could start the machin- 
ery of this man’s brain to get at the truth of this 
minor matter. But there was just the greatness of 
Captain Craig. 

He was now walking back and forth, saying 
nothing. 

“If — if I’m right,” ventured Wesley, “ I should 
think maybe one of those Panama fellows — ” 

“ I’ve heard enough about those fellows,” said 
the captain, tartly; then, turning suddenly, “Wes- 
ley,” said he, “ let Bobby leave all those maps at 
headquarters to-morrow morning. You go up to 
East Hill after lunch and see what you can do. 
There are three laborers up there and I’ll have them 
instructed to follow your lime . 2 I can’t promise 
you the money that kind of work calls for because 
you’re not C.S. Keep your wits about you, think 
big, and don’t be afraid of a bold idea when you’re 
once convinced it’s practical. That’s engineering. 
Put a little originality into it and let’s see what 
you’ve got in you. I’ll drop up there in a day or 
two.” 

You could have knocked Wesley down with a 
2 Marks made with lime to indicate for digging. 


148 


BOY SCOUTS 


feather. He stood gaping and speechless as the 
captain went through the door. There he paused 
and swung around, facing the astonished boy. 

“ There’s another thing, Wesley,” he said, rap- 
idly. “ Bobby seems to think you’re worrying 
about this talk of weeding out the unskilled force, 
now the work is nearing completion. There’s al- 
ways gossip in a camp like this. Pay no attention 
to it. Do you remember what I told you the day 
you came to Governor’s Island ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I do. I remember the very words, 
and I’ve said them to myself a good many times, 
too. You said that if I did well my services would 
be appreciated.” 

“ Have you any reason to think that I am going 
to break my word ? ” 

“ No, sir, I — ” 

“ Very well, then,” said the captain, and he was 
gone. 

Wesley gathered up the litter on his little table, 
in a daze. Not the least part of his joy was this 
evidence of the real friendship of Bobby Cullen. 

Yes, Bobby was very fond of him. That is why 
he called him a Jersey mosquito, and kicked his 
muddy shoes at him, and towsled his hair for him, 
and told him he didn’t have sense enough to know 
how to cook supper. Wesley had never realized 
that these were all marks of affection, but he saw 
them now in a new light. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


149 


As for Captain Craig, if all the nations of the 
earth, headed by Uncle Sam, should unite to com- 
bat the captain, Wesley felt perfectly assured that 
the captain would land on top. One result of his 
life here in the Gulch was that he had come to 
respect and then to love Uncle Sam. 

But he worshiped Captain Craig. 


CHAPTER XII 


A STRANGER AND AN ACCIDENT 

East Hill rose well above the Gulch. Even 
after the Gulch was flooded the waters would only 
graze the lower reach of the hill; and this was a 
foothill of still higher and more rugged hills be- 
yond in whose remote fastnesses the wild waters 
foregathered and lay dormant through the winter- 
time. And below the easy, even slope of East Hill 
the rugged walls of the Gulch descended, ledge upon 
ledge, with miniature plateaus here and there, 
sparsely covered with vegetation. 

Year in and year out these wild waters, awaken- 
ing in the spring, had trickled down the easy slope 
into the Gulch and, dashing from rock to rock, had 
joined the river to swell it and send it forth on its 
errand of death and devastation. But Uncle Sam 
had now raised his great concrete hand forbidding 
these death-dealing legions to pass. Yet still they 
trickled down East Hill, washing away its sub- 
stance to clog the rivers below with mud, and rear 
great sand-bars in their channels. 

So the Forestry people had planted East Hill 
thick with little trees, helpless, tender, fragile in- 
150 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


151 

fants that needed watching and nursing, and re- 
quired to have their little roots safeguarded from 
these ruthless forces descending out of the moun- 
tains. Some day these little trees would become 
strong and self-supporting, binding the earth to- 
gether with their tangle of mighty roots, and the 
waters would pass over without taking toll. Then 
little particles of East Hill would not pass out 
through the spillway to reunite and menace navi- 
gation. 

So the protectors of the future had to be guarded 
now, and that is what Bobby Cullen meant when 
he told his friends, the “ Topographic 1 boys,” that 
his cabin-mate had gone up on East Hill to mind 
the babies. He forgot to tell them that he had 
been instrumental in procuring him this position. 
Bobby was very forgetful — sometimes. 

As the days passed Wesley became more and 
more interested in his new work. To him it was 
an engineering job on a small scale, requiring cal- 
culation and judgment. The three foreign labor- 
ers followed his directions in cheerful subservience, 
and the four formed a happy little family on the 
hill, with the Gulch and all its bustling toilers in 
panoramic view below them. 

As the rush of waters from the mountains in- 
creased, the work became more difficult and com- 
plicated. Sometimes, despite all his carefully laid 
1 Members of the Geological Survey, engaged in mapping. 


BOY SCOUTS 


152 

plans, it would insinuate its way over the hillside, 
plowing furrows among the trees and leaving their 
young roots bare. But these tactics were always 
counteracted by new ditches and as time went on 
Wesley acquired a sort of instinctive knowledge 
of where the water would come down, and he would 
trace the slightest hollows away up into the woods, 
always looking for causes rather than waiting for 
results. Once a few days of rain reinforced the 
continually advancing foe; the water overflowed 
the little trenches, swept over the hill, and, added 
to the direct fall of the rain itself, left a sorry dem- 
onstration of erosion on the slope. That night he 
clambered down into the Gulch and went home 
discouraged. 

“ It’s just been a case of trying to hold* the fort 
to-day, Bobby,” he said. 

“ Yes, and it’ll be worse before it’s better, too, 
Wes,” was the encouraging reply. 

And it was. The spring freshets were on in 
real earnest. Down through a thousand crannies, 
the water went tumbling, trickling, rushing, or 
stealing, into the Gulch, and the spreading puddles 
in the great valley grew to ponds, uniting one with 
another; the old familiar swamps were becoming 
submerged, the life of the Gulch was beginning to 
perch higher; cabins and machinery were moved 
up out of the level where the swelling river wound 
its way. It would be many months before the 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 153 

Gulch would be filled and this hustling city of a 
day gone forever. 

Wesley often looked far down at the white mass 
at the other end of the rugged valley, and at the 
brown specks moving about on it. That was where 
the captain’s interest centered. But once, twice, he 
came up and made a hurried call on Wesley, giving 
him points, advising him about this and that, talk- 
ing in his brisk, convincing way, and leaving with 
Wesley the impression that his work was satisfac- 
tory. 

He was never wearier, and he was never filthier, 
and he was never happier, than when he clambered 
down below East Hill one night for the short-cut 
which he often took into the Gulch. It had been 
a hard day, taxing mind and body, and he was look- 
ing forward to his quiet, home-cooked supper with 
Bobby. He was full of plans for the morrow. 

He knew the pay he was receiving was wholly 
inadequate to the work he was doing, but he knew 
that this was from an unavoidable circumstance; 
he was not on Civil Service and was only doing 
important work because Captain Craig had taken 
a fancy to him. If the captain were straining a 
point to give him this work, that was all the boy 
could expect. He could not receive good wages 
while scheduled as local help. He was thankful 
for his position, for the captain’s confidence, for 
Bobby’s friendship, and most of all he was thank- 


154 


BOY SCOUTS 


ful that fifty dollars, sent by himself, must by this 
time have reached Oakwood. 

He was now a familiar figure as he passed along 
through the Gulch each day, to and from East Hill. 
Often the men would call, “ Well, Query, your days 
are numbered,” “ I hear the captain’s not satisfied 
with you,” or more often make some joking com- 
ment about the shipment of skilled workers from 
Panama which was scheduled to descend upon the 
Gulch within a short time. “ An’ that’ll be the ind 
uv Query,” Mike would say, but out of the boy’s 
hearing he was ready enough to confess that not 
even the experience and skill gained in Culebra Cut 
could have carried forward this work with more 
care and intelligence than Wesley had shown. 
“ An’ it simply shows,” he would add, “ that ingi- 
neers is born an’ not made.” 

Query had learned to take this banter and jolly- 
ing good-naturedly; indeed, he was too engrossed 
in his work to be annoyed. Secure in the captain’s 
favor, confident in his promise, Wesley pinned his 
faith to this one thought, that if he did his work 
well it would be appreciated. He sometimes 
thought ruefully of that swaggering, blase young 
gentleman who used to edify the simple Sparrow, 
and of how that same young gentleman had boasted 
that he would not make his living in a pair of over- 
alls. He knew now that some of the men who 
wore overalls received five or six thousand dollars 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


155 


a year as a balm to that terrible humiliation. Wes- 
ley had supposed that a man who wore a high col- 
lar and traveled on a commutation ticket always 
received more money than the man who wore a 
flannel shirt and whose suspenders were visible. 
He was now aware that it was often quite the 
other way. 

On this particular evening, as he was picking his 
way down into the Gulch, he paused at what the 
workers called the “ mezzanine,” a plateau several 
acres in extent and about fifty feet above the bed 
of the valley. From this place the slope to the 
land below was very abrupt, and clustered near its 
foot were several cabins. These were occupied by 
men who handled the logs which were rolled down 
from the mezzanine, where trees were being felled ; 
for since the plateau would eventually be submerged 
it was necessary to relieve it of all material capable 
of rotting and causing impurities. There was a 
plan afoot to face this whole slope with concrete, 
since in the dry season it would be above the water- 
line and have to serve, from time to time, as bank. 

Two or three fellows, returning like Wesley 
from their work, were perched on a large rock 
watching one of those terrific struggles known as 
“ stump-hauling,” of which Mike had told him. It 
was a demonstration of sheer, blind, relentless brute 
power, by which a mammoth root was being slowly 
wrenched up out of the earth in which it had for 


BOY SCOUTS 


156 

years spread its damp, strong tentacles. There 
was something heroic in the tenacious resistance of 
these great snakelike sinews ; one felt that they had 
a right to resist because the earth was their home. 

About fifty yards away was the simple engine 
which performed this heartless deed. It consisted 
of a collection of stout piles driven into the earth, 
until the top of the whole .circular mass was within 
a few inches of the ground. From these were laid 
outward upon the ground stout beams in every di- 
rection, like the sun’s rays, and the outer end of 
each abutted against a smaller group of piles driven 
into the earth. Out of the central pile rose a heavy 
steel bar, hardly less than a foot in diameter, which 
supported a gigantic spool as big as a hogshead 
with a long wooden crossbar, perhaps fifty feet in 
length, running through it. This bar was rein- 
forced along the sides where its lateral strain would 
come by metal girding, such as one sees beneath a 
railroad car to counteract the sagging tendency of 
its center. Here, in this long crossbar, reposed that 
invincible natural power which is neither steam nor 
gas nor electricity, a power which is multiplied with 
every inch of length, the tremendous and resistless 
power of leverage. At the extreme ends of the 
bar two teams of stout horses stood waiting. From 
the great spool a mammoth chain dragged along 
the ground and was wound around and fastened to 
the distant stump. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


157 

The stump had just been “ looped ” as Wesley 
vaulted onto the rock. 

“ Going to be some fight,” commented one of the 
onlookers. 

“ Bet she holds like an old molar.” 

To Wesley the impending operation was un- 
pleasantly suggestive of the drawing of a great 
tooth. 

“ She’ll snap the crossbar, you see,” another of 
the watchers observed. 

“ No, she won’t, but she’s going to give that 
windlass a wrench or two, hey, Query ? ” 

Wesley looked at the distant windlass. “ Seems 
to me,” he said, “ a big root ought to know how to 
hang on better than any beam; it’s fighting on its 
own territory, as you might say.” 

“ For its home,” said another of his companions. 

“ Oh, she’ll come all right, but you never know 
what revenge they’ll take.” 

“ There she goes,” said another. 

There was the clanking sound of tightening 
chain ; the horses had started leisurely around. 
Then came the crackling of bark as the tightening 
metal links pressed cruelly into the yielding wood. 
The whole length of chain was off the ground, a 
taut bee-line from stump to windlass. Its every 
link seemed to quiver with the terrific strain. A 
piece of bark flew over and hit Wesley. He had a 
feeling that in another moment a link from the 
snapped chain would catch him in the head. 


BOY SCOUTS 


158 

“ She has a trick or two up her sleeve, but — ” 

“ There she comes ! ” 

The distant teams were now in an attitude of 
straining. The great stump appeared to stir, ever 
so slightly. Wesley saw it and was almost sorry. 
For the moment his sympathy was with the re- 
mains of that mammoth tree, taking its last stand 
against the power and device of man. The sug- 
gestion of a great tooth lingered with him and his 
imagination could not dissociate this awful wrench- 
ing and hauling and inevitable slow yielding from 
the idea of physical pain. It must hurt the earth 
to have a great jagged, quivering wound made in it. 

From the big windlass came the sound of strain- 
ing wood, and a sudden clank and spasmodic move- 
ment of the chain as one great link slipped off an- 
other on the big spool. He felt that the stump 
must feel the relief of this momentary slack. Then 
the chain was taut again. Something would have 
to happen surely. The chain seemed impartial, 
willing to snap in either cause and terminate the 
struggle of these monsters that it joined. The 
horses trudged around, straining, their heads low, 
the dirt flying from their cutting hoofs. And snap 
the chain would have in just another second if — 

" Ah-h-h-h-h ! ” drawled one of the watchers in 
triumphant satisfaction as the chafed, sturdy, 
strangled monster yielded, leaning toward its ad- 
versary. Behind it the ground bulged, cracked and 
gaped open as if from a small earthquake. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


159 


In this business the first yielding is always fatal. 
The doubt, if there were any, was over. The 
stout, brave, maltreated old remnant of the majestic 
tree was coming up out of its earthen home. 
Slowly, with merciless, invincible power, its strong, 
clinging, far-reaching tentacles were being dis- 
lodged and drawn, willy-nilly, through the crum- 
bling earth where they had spread and grown. The 
odor of the fresh under-soil was diffused about as 
the long sinewy arms came away, the black earth 
dripping from them. 

“I — I hope she does take her revenge,” said 
Wesley. 

The others laughed at the effect it had left upon 
him. 

“ Never saw one hauled before, Query?” 

The task was easy now, the surrender complete. 
To Wesley it seemed as if it must be humiliating to 
this monstrous root to be wrenched up slowly into 
the light of day, and to follow so meekly after its 
conqueror. Its first calm resistance had been so 
splendid, so dignified! The horses trotted around 
now, the chain danced with a wholesome, moderate, 
safe tightness, which did not cause the boy to hold 
his breath. 

“ All over but the shouting,” said one of Wes- 
ley’s companions, sliding from the rock ; “ me for 
mess-cabin.” 

“ Wait a minute,” said another, sliding off ; 
“ coming, Query ? ” 


i6o 


BOY SCOUTS 


But Wesley was not restricted by the household 
rules of “ mess-cabin ” ; he and Bobby dined when 
they happened to get home. This thing that he 
had watched was evidently no new sight to his de- 
parting friends. 

He slid from the rock and approaching the stump 
saw that it was still showing a good deal of re- 
sistance. Its network of earth-caked roots lay in 
a great jagged chasm. The ends of the longer 
branches of root were still embedded in the solid 
earth below, but were coming up slowly. Wesley 
could fancy this cruel, ragged chasm throbbing 
with the pain of that terrible wrench it had re- 
ceived. He wondered how far those larger roots 
extended. After watching for a few minutes his 
gaze turned to the Gulch below. He could see men 
coming along and disappearing under the abrupt 
slope, evidently going into the cabins close beneath 
it. Then, as he looked, he seemed to see something 
nearby which startled him. Ever since those long 
weeks of concentrated eye-strain, his vision had 
played strange antics, so now he closed his eyes (a 
habit he had acquired) to rest them for a moment. 
When he opened them he realized that what he 
had seen was real. 

The big rock on which he had been sitting was 
stirring. 

All in a flash he realized that the great stump did 
indeed have “ something up its sleeve,” and this 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


161 


was it. The rock was at the very point where the 
plateau met the abrupt slope. In another half min- 
ute it would be crashing down upon those tiny 
cabins. Over at the windlass he could see the 
horses plodding around and hear the voices of the 
men, thinned by the distance. Close by him 
the stump was slowly coming up. For just one 
moment he was helpless. Then he got hold of his 
mind. 

“Whoa — back! ” he shrieked at the top of his 
voice, accompanying the shout with a significant 
motion of his raised hands. The turning contin- 
ued and again he shouted. This time the teams 
stopped. 

“ Back ! ” he yelled. “ Give me some slack ! ” 
He pointed to the rock, but no one seemed to under- 
stand. The great rock stirred again. A pebble 
fell from it. Then he saw the teams shifted and 
felt the slack, as the windlass unwound. Trying 
to control his excitement, Wesley loosened the 
chain from the stump. As he did so the wounded 
bark fell away in powder. He laid the heavy chain 
free of the prone stump, then with all his might he 
hauled its hooked end out to the edge of the slope. 
Meanwhile, he tried to make the distant men under- 
stand that they should conform to his movements, 
giving him such slack as he needed to loop the rock, 
but no more. For he felt that if the looped rock 
descended on a slack chain its tremendous momen- 


BOY SCOUTS 


162 

turn would snap the links like thread at the moment 
of tightening. It must be looped and the chain 
made taut simultaneously. But the men did not 
seem to understand; instead, one of them came run- 
ning toward him. 

“Fool!” said Wesley, in panic impatience. 
But there was slack enough; the trouble was there 
was too much. The rock would be halfway down 
before the chain tightened. Now it stirred again 
and a small rock beneath it went bouldering down 
into the Gulch. 

Panting and frightened, he hauled and tugged 
the great chain to the rock. Now the man who was 
running seemed to understand and yelled for him 
to get back. But it was too late. 

In ordinary circumstances no human being of 
average strength and with the natural regard for 
his own life, could have done what Wesley did. 
But the emergency, the precarious position of that 
mammoth boulder, the cabins below, his wrath that 
the men did not understand him, — all these things 
made him utterly, frantically reckless, and of that 
furious, blind insanity a certain brute strength was 
born. What he did he was hardly conscious of 
doing. 

He clambered up on the rock, hauled the chain 
after him and cast it down on the other side, vault- 
ing down after it. He tugged it around under a 
corner of the hesitant mass, dragging it up after 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 163 

him on the other side. Now he was on top, now 
below, and the chain was wound around the rock 
in every direction. His heart thumped and 
pounded and his side had a cruel, kinky pain. The 
earth was giving way underneath, the rock was 
lurching. 

He had used up nearly every yard of slack and 
was about to try to call when the great rock 
swayed, its top became its side, and Wesley was 
thrown below it. The great hook was caught in 
one of the links, the rock descended a yard — two 
yards — three — and was just gathering momen- 
tum for its murderous descent, when the staunch 
chain, tightening, halted it. There was the sound 
of grinding stone as the great oval steel links 
crushed into the inert mass, and held it securely on 
the abrupt slope. 

They raised it a little with the windlass and 
lifted Wesley gently out from where he had been 
caught. From the cabins below people whose lives 
had been all but crushed out came up to see what 
the trouble was. The men from the windlass were 
there, too, and said the chain was a marvel, that 
it would hold anything, and that the boy must have 
been stark mad. 

Whether he was stark mad or not he was wholly 
unconscious. His face was ashen white and the 
tokens of his frantic struggle were all over him, in 


164 


BOY SCOUTS 


his torn clothes, his scraped and bleeding knees. 
But these were trifles, the spoils of war. His eyes 
were half open and there was blood on his lips. 
One of his shoes was off. His hand looked like a 
waxen hand, white, inhuman. 

“ Is it Query ? ” a man asked softly. 

“ Sure.” 

“ I didn’t know him — his lips look so thin.” 

They got an army stretcher and carried him 
down the easy incline of a by-path, and into one 
of the cabins. A young girl who pressed her way 
through the accompanying throng to get a glimpse 
of him, shrieked and rushed away. And seeing 
her, other women who hovered about turned away, 
afraid to look and panting visibly. . . . 

Up on the deserted mezzanine the lonely stump 
held its solitary sway. In the gathering darkness 
the great wound, with the tangled roots lying 
within it, seemed a black cavern. Standing at a 
respectful distance, the cross-bar of the conquering 
windlass threw a long ghostlike shadow to the edge 
of the plateau. The staunch chain, a black line, 
reached taut from the windlass and disappeared at 
the abrupt descent. There was a long, irregular 
rent in the earth where the rock had stood. The 
chafed, bruised, conquered stump lay prone above 
its maze of subterranean legions. Several mam- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 165 

moth arms still extended from it into the depths. 
One of these, assailed from above, had struck from 
below. 

The old stump had its revenge. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE HERO 

The girl who screamed and ran away lived to 
look another day. And the next time she looked 
at the face of Query she liked it much better. He 
was lying in the cabin of her parents where he had 
first been carried, and she could not avoid seeing 
him even if she wished to. But she did not wish 
to avoid seeing him. 

There is no situation in which two persons may 
find themselves where acquaintance progresses more 
rapidly than in that of convalescent and nurse. 
There had been one night of awful apprehension 
when the Gulch’s young doctor had remained close 
to the unconscious boy, then several days of a less 
tense anxiety, while the fear of internal injuries 
gradually lessened, and then one afternoon the girl 
heard him calling her “ Thanksgiving Day,” and by 
that sign she knew that he was getting better. 

He was lying on a cot in the little room, his head 
weakly inclined toward her, as she moved about 
tidying the place according to her usual evening 
custom. There was a suggestion of health and 
briskness in her movements and Wesley liked to 
watch her. 


1 66 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 167 

“ Why do you call me Thanksgiving ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Why ? Oh, I don’t know ; because I ought to 
be so thankful to you, I suppose.” 

“ That isn’t the reason at all; you’re just making 
fun of me.” 

There was a touch of mischief in Wesley’s eyes 
as he watched her hurrying about the room. “ I’ll 
call you the Fourth of July if you’d rather,” he 
ventured. 

“ Oh, of course, anything you like.” 

Wesley’s eyes still followed her. “ Why do 
they call you Easter?” he finally asked. 

“ Why? Don’t you like it? You could call me 
Miss Merrick if you’d rather.” 

“ Yes, but I wouldn’t rather.” 

“ Well?” said she. 

“ Well,” said he. # 

Then there was a pause. 

“ Why do they call you Easter ? ” he repeated. 

“ Because, Mr. Query, I was born on Easter Sun- 
day; there, now I hope you’re satisfied.” 

There was another interval of silence while she 
continued to move about the little room. 

“ I think it fits you pretty well,” said Wesley. 

“ Well, I think Query fits you pretty well if it 
comes to that,” retorted the girl. 

Again he fell to watching her, an amused twinkle 
in his eyes. You can see for yourself that he was 
getting better. 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 68 

“ How does it fit me pretty well? ” she suddenly 
demanded, swinging round upon him. 

“ How ? ” he parried. “ How should I know ? 
It just does.” 

“ You must have some reason.” 

“ Reasons aren’t necessary. You can think 
things without having reasons, I hope. This is a 
free country.” 

“ I don’t see how a name can fit,” she said. 

“ It does, just the same. Sort of reminds me of 
Easter lilies.” 

“ How?” 

“ I mean you and the name together.” 

“ I think you’re delirious yet,” said the girl. 

“ You can bet I’m not.” 

“ Well, then, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, 
I’d like to know how I could remind you of Easter 
lilies.” 

“No trouble at all,” said Wesley; “but I said 
you and the name together; and the white dress, 
too. If you were lying here instead of me you’d 
see it. Just now when you turned around and 
leaned over it reminded me of lilies. — I have all 
sorts of funny thoughts lying here.” 

She was evidently satisfied for she said nothing, 
only went and stood beside his cot. 

“ Does your foot hurt now ? ” 

“ Only when I move it sideways.” 

“ Well, don’t move it sideways then.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


169 


There was a suggestion of the old Wesley Bin- 
ford in his manner these days, a touch of his old 
levity, but it was in a very mild form and the girl 
did not dislike it. Perhaps it was the enforced 
idleness, or perhaps it was just a touch of that 
banter which many boys exhibit with girls. Or it 
may have been that his way of looking at the acci- 
dent which had laid him low occasioned that sem- 
blance of the old sneer, which now and then got 
the upper hand of his countenance. If there were 
any discerning people in the Gulch who fancied 
that Wesley’s success on East Hill had turned his 
head a little (and I’m afraid there were), why, at 
least, they could make no such claim in regard to 
his looping of the rock. He was perfectly honest 
with himself about that. He knew he had done it 
in blind recklessness. He believed that he could 
not do it again. He had never been fond of boys’ 
books, and he did not relish being what he called a 
“ story-book hero.” “ People always fall for gal- 
lery stunts,” he sneeringly observed to Easter one 
day, and somehow it had grated on her, giving her 
the impression that he felt superior to the people 
who were lauding his heroism; particularly as she 
was one of these people. 

Then again, it sometimes annoyed her a little 
that he did not take her seriously, but must be al- 
ways dealing in this satirical banter as if he 
thought a girl were hardly worthy of more serious 


i ;o 


BOY SCOUTS 


treatment. He had a habit of “ jollying ” her and 
of making light of heroic deeds generally, with a 
little sneer, which irritated her. You see, it is not 
always the hard work, but the heroic deeds, which 
attract a young lady. 

Wesley could never again be the same as he had 
once been. To Honor Sparrow he had been un- 
bearable. But I can tell you he was a very long 
way from being unbearable to Easter Merrick. 
Probably she would not have noticed these little 
jarring traits in him if she had not liked him so 
much. 

And you know, there is something to be said on 
Wesley’s side, too. He was very far from being 
perfect, yet I fancy he was coming to have a good 
focus now on life and its realities. He never 
sneered at his work on East Hill. 

He had, and I suppose it was natural, just a little 
of that arrogant pride which a person has who suc- 
ceeds without the usual advantages and when peo- 
ple have thought he would not succeed. He was 
proud of his work, and he was honest enough with 
himself not to be carried away by the applause fol- 
lowing a deed of sheer madness. He would not 
pose as a hero; and there was an unpleasant little 
touch of superciliousness in his manner sometimes 
toward the people whose vision was so distorted. 

But if Wesley retained the unhappy habit of 
sneering he, at least, sneered at different kinds of 
things. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


“ Does it hurt now ? ” Easter asked sympathet- 
ically. 

“ Oh, some — it feels tired.” 

He looked at her with a little smile of resigna- 
tion and she stood looking down at him with sym- 
pathy all over her face. 

“ I believe it hurts more than you say.” 

“ I suppose that’s the way with compound frac- 
tures,” he said, “ the pain kind of multiplies up — 
like compound interest.” 

Still she stood watching him as if she did not 
understand one who could joke while suffering. 

“ Tell me some of the funny thoughts you have 
lying there.” 

“ Oh, they’re too funny to tell ; sit down and talk 
to me.” 

“ I can’t — I’ve got to go and help mother. Do 
you know it’s five o’clock? The men are coming 
down.” 

“ No, they’re not, I can hear them chopping up 
on the mezzanine, yet. Sit down.” 

“ No, really I can’t,” she said. Then she sat 
down. 

“ Besides,” she said, as if this line of talk had 
just been interrupted, “ if it’s a question of thanks- 
giving, I think we’re the ones to be thankful. You 
saved our lives.” 

“ Oh, I’m some hero.” 

“ Do you know what Captain Craig said ? ” she 
asked, ignoring his remark. 


172 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ No, what did he say? ” 

“ He said that it wasn’t your bravery that was 
so remarkable as the fact that even in your terrible 
haste and excitement you knew just how to loop 
the rock so the chain would tighten on it when it 
moved. He said you must have known the rock 
would slide a little to the left before it came down. 
And by doing it scientifically, you see, you saved 
not only our lives but your own.” 

“ I’d have been some pancake in another second, 
all right.” 

“ Ugh ! I wish you wouldn’t talk that way — 
it’s dreadful.” 

She sat rocking quietly a few moments, her 
pretty feet crossed before her. 

“ I think it’s just wonderful what you’ve been 
doing up on the hill. Captain Craig said you have 
the makings of an engineer. Isn’t that fine? ” 

“ Scrumptious.” 

“ I’ve been hearing all about you from Bobby 
Cullen. He said you had no technical training at 
all; and now — ” 

“ You mustn’t believe all Bobby says.” 

“ I think he’s splendid, don’t you?” 

“ Well, I guess, yes.” 

“ And don’t you admire the captain ? ” 

“You said it!” observed Wesley. 

Then another silence fell, broken only by the 
creaking of her chair on the rough cabin floor. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


173 


“ I used to notice you going up and down,” she 
said, “but you never noticed me. I used to won- 
der why the men called you Query. I wouldn’t 
let them call me Query if I were you.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Not if I had such a pretty name as Wesley.” 

“ You ought to be satisfied,” he said, “ with a 
name like Easter.” 

“Don’t you think it’s freakish?” 

“No — and it’s not the only pretty thing about 
you, either.” 

An invalid is privileged to say what he pleases. 
She sat rocking and blushing a trifle, and Wesley 
wondered why he never had noticed her, and how 
much Bobby Cullen had noticed her. It seemed 
odd that Bobby had never mentioned her. 

“ I used to wonder who you were,” she said 
weakly. 

“ Well, now you know.” 

“ Do you ever imagine things about people 
you’ve never met? Then you meet them and they 
seem so different.” 

“ Do 1 seem different ? ” 

“ N-no — not exactly. I fancied your name was 
Ralph ; wasn’t that absurd ? ” 

Another pause. 

“ May I come and see you sometimes, after Fri- 
day?” 

“ Do you want to ? ” 


174 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Do you think I want to ? ” 

“ How should I know? ” 

“ Well, guess.” 

“ Oh, I’m perfectly dreadful at guessing.” 

“You ought to be able to guess that — it’s 
easy.” 

“ There,” she said, rising, “ the men are coming 
down.” 

Up on the mezzanine the long blast of a horn, 
echoed by another far down at the dam, told that 
the day’s work was over. 

On Friday Mike stopped on his way home, and 
leaning on his stalwart arm Wesley hobbled back 
to Bobby’s cabin. One of the woodsmen up on 
the mezzanine had hewn and trimmed him a stout 
cane, and limping along with the aid of this he pre- 
sented an odd combination of an old man and a 
young boy. 

There was no note of levity in his expression of 
gratitude to the good people who had sheltered and 
nursed him. 

“ Are you sorry to go ? ” Mrs. Merrick asked 
him. 

He hesitated until Easter asked if he had heard 
her mother’s question. Then he said that he was 
sorry and glad ; sorry to leave their hospitable roof 
but glad to get home and back to work soon. 
“You didn’t guess,” he added to Easter. 

“ Guess what ? ” she asked, though she knew 
very well what he meant. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


175 


“ Whether I want to come and see you.” 

“ Well, then,” she said with courageous frank- 
ness, “ I guess you do.” 

“ You’re a good guesser,” said Wesley and they 
both laughed. 

She stood in the doorway looking after them and 
when they disappeared behind the end of the long 
“ Supplies cabin ” she still waited until they 
emerged upon the board-walk across the swamp 
behind it. 

“ Careful,” she called. 

Wesley turned and waved his hand. 

“ Easter,” called her mother, “ are you coming 
to help me? You know, we’re likely to be quar- 
tered 1 in another week or two.” 

“ Pm coming, mother.” But they were far 
down the Gulch before she went in. 

It was on his way home that Wesley learned 
what a hero he really was. Few of the technical 
force were to be seen but the people whose cabins 
he passed came out in little squads to congratulate 
him and to speak of his feat. Indeed, his progress 
homeward was hardly less than a triumphal march, 
or rather, a triumphal hobble, and Mike was highly 
elated. 

“ But he’s a sthrange kid, he is,” he later ob- 
served; ‘‘be jiggers, if it didn’t make him mad ter 

1 Meaning to have new recruits quartered with them, theirs 
being a double cabin. 


BOY SCOUTS 


176 

hear thim! Ye niver know f what’s goin’ on inside 
his head, an’ that’s the truth. Oi doon’t under- 
stand him at ahl.” 

Bobby was already cooking supper (a sumptuous 
meal in honor of the hero’s return) when the pair 
came in and Wesley, smiling and exhausted, sat 
down on the edge of his own cot. 

“ Home, sweet home,” he panted. 

“ Home, sweet home, Wes,” said Bobby. 

“ Gee, but everything looks natural,” Wesley 
said. “ I suppose you’ve been falling back into 
those old hermit ways of yours; I’ll have to drag 
you out again.” 

Bobby only smiled, genuinely happy, and poked 
a fork into a potato to see if it was done. 

“Ye want t’look oot fer ’im,” said Mike; “he’ll 
be sneakin’ oop East Hill termorrer fer worrk — 
he’s daft on th’subject.” 

“ Guess there’s something up East Hill way now 
besides work,” commented Bobby. 

Mike screwed his face into a tremendously sig- 
nificant wink. “ Wall, Oi’ll say this,” said he, 
“ th’best hoosekaper in this here Goolch is Robert 
Coolen. Whin Oi wuz in Panamar — ” 

“ I’ll pour this boiling water over you if you 
don’t cut out ‘ Panamar,’ ” said Bobby. 

Wesley smiled at the perpetual good-natured war 
between the two. He made no disclaimer to the 
intimation about the other attraction at East Hill. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


1 77 

Perhaps he felt that there was some ground of 
truth in Bobby’s joking comment. 

Presently Mike made it worse. 

“ Aw, wall,” said he, in friendly confidence to 
Bobby; “ fwhat do ye care? Sure, it wudn’t be 
th’furst gurrl — ” 

“ Shut up ! ” said Wesley. 

“ Oi’ll not. Oi’m spakin’ to me frind, Robert 
Coolen. — If ye should iver fale lonesome of a 
noight, Bobby, ye’ve got yer harmonica, an’ ye kin 
alius sind over fer yer thrue frind, Michael Kefrri- 
gan, an’ Oi’ll dhrop in an’ tip ye a shtave on me 
accordia. We kin play dooits, loike.” 

With this he gave Bobby another significant 
grimace and was gone. 

“ Is it good to get back, Wes? Sit down there. 
What’s the matter with you ? ” 

Wesley sank back luxuriously on the cot. “ Yes, 
it is, Bob. I can’t tell you how good it is.” 

“ It’s some honor being chief cook to the world’s 
hero, Wes.” 

“ Oh, don’t you give me that.” 

“ I was afraid you wouldn’t come till to-mor- 
row.” 

“ Bob, what did you mean by that you said — 
about — other things up East Hill ? ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


BAD NEWS 

So Wesley resumed his work on East Hill and 
if the spring freshets took advantage of his ab- 
sence, they paid dearly for it on his return. He 
had not lain on his back ten days to no purpose, 
and now the result of his cogitations was visible 
and extremely audible in a couple of sturdy little 
gas engines placed at strategic points to pump out 
the water which had managed to maneuver itself 
into forbidden territory. 

The unmuffled explosions of these two little 
demons could be heard down on the mezzanine and 
even in the cabins below, and Wesley, as he limped 
about his domain, would pause now and again and, 
leaning on his cane, listen knowingly to the steady 
chugging, as a doctor will listen attentively to a 
patient’s coughing. Then sometimes he would 
hobble over and alter this sound by the merest 
touch of a valve. Again he would sniff the air, 
which was one of the ingredients of his fuel, and 
adjust his carbureter according to the lightness or 
heaviness of the atmosphere. 

He learned to know a healthy chugging when he 
178 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


179 


heard it, and to know that erratic chugging meant 
loss of power, often a strain or shock to bearings 
and waste of fuel. He learned the habits of wild 
water too, as a trainer learns the instincts of a sav- 
age beast. He learned the tactics it employs. 

Do you know, I should like to have stepped up 
to him in those days, just as he stood there scowl- 
ing and thoughtful, gone right up to him where he 
stood wearing that greasy flannel shirt and leaning 
on that stout cane to favor his injured foot; I 
should like to have quietly approached and asked 
him if he thought that was the kind of work for a 
young gentleman to be doing and whether he 
didn’t remember that threat about wearing overalls. 
I should like to have offered him a position in the 
Forbes Perfumery Co., promising him Saturday 
afternoons all the year round. I should have been 
very particular to emphasize this inducement about 
the Saturday afternoons, just to see how he would 
take it. It would have been a pretty mean thing 
to do, but I should like to have done it. 

The fact was that he not only didn’t take Sat- 
urday afternoons, but that he sometimes even 
failed to notice the horn at evening. It seemed 
that he was always in the middle of something 
when this annoying signal blew, and he heard it 
often with resentment as if there were a kind of 
conspiracy to interfere with his important labors; 
and when the three men went down, weary and 


i8o 


BOY SCOUTS 


hungry, he would hobble about alone. He was 
lord of the manor up there ; he had the lord’s pride 
of ownership and accomplishment, and he liked to 
linger about his little dominion planning new tasks 
for the morrow. 

That is how it fell out that Bobby Cullen often 
ate his home-cooked supper alone; and that Wesley 
would often drop in just in the nick of time and 
eat his home-cooked supper in Luke Merrick’s 
cabin. “ Stay and have supper with us,” Easter 
had said when he paused one evening, “ that will 
rest your foot and you’ll feel more like walking 
home. Bobby will know.” 

So Wesley stayed to rest his foot; and after he 
had stayed several times in this way, Bobby knew. 

Sometimes after supper Wesley would rest his 
foot by strolling down to the dam with Easter to 
see how the crown-work and the footbridge were 
coming on, and it would be ten o’clock or after 
when he limped home. He usually found Bobby 
playing his harmonica. Bobby asked few ques- 
tions, he seemed always glad when Wesley came 
home, and was the same old bantering, affectionate 
friend. 

“ H’lo, Wes,” he would say, “how are things? 
Tired, old man?” When this sort of thing came 
two nights hand-running Wesley had a kind of 
guilty feeling which sometimes took the form of a 
defensive surliness, and sometimes an excess of 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 181 

cordiality. Bobby was always the same. Once, 
when Wesley came in late he noticed Bobby’s sup- 
per things, one plate, one cup, one saucer, still 
standing on their little makeshift table. 

“ I’m going to dope out a plan here,” said Wes- 
ley, “ be all right to put these away ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Bobby. “ I’ll put them away ; sit 
down.” 

But Wesley did not work out the plan; perhaps 
he did not intend to. I dare say those quiet re- 
minders of Bobby’s lonely supper accused him and 
he wished to get them out of sight. 

“ Aren’t you going to work out your plan, old 
man ? ” Bobby asked later. 

“No,” said Wesley, annoyed; “don’t you sup- 
pose I’ve done work enough to-day. Gee, I’ve got 
to rest some time.” 

Bobby said nothing. 

One day about a week later Wesley resolved to 
leave promptly at night and have supper started 
before Bobby reached the cabin. He was going 
to make Bobby tell of his contour work down at 
the Forks. He had heard scarcely a word from 
Bobby lately about the survey work, and he was 
going to have a good long evening with his cabin- 
mate and hear all the news and gossip of the Gulch. 
He had heard nothing about the captain lately. 
Bobby, who was in close touch with the powers that 
be, always had some interesting item about the cap- 


BOY SCOUTS 


182 

tain. The recollection of that lonely cup and 
saucer and plate lingered with Wesley. . . . 

The plain fact is that a slight constraint had 
grown up between Wesley and Bobby. They had 
drifted into this state imperceptibly. Neither ac- 
knowledged it, but both were conscious of it. The 
familiar off-hand banter seemed forced and insin- 
cere. Bobby felt the same as ever, and I dare say 
Wesley did. But perhaps Wesley was not alto- 
gether sincere with himself. He felt that he must 
justify himself for his frequent absences, so he 
told himself that Bobby was an old hermit. And 
he was very angry and disgusted when one Wesley 
Binford declined to be comforted by excuses which 
the other Wesley Binford offered. 

It is hard to say how far this slow drifting apart 
might have gone or how it might have ended if 
something had not happened to change the whole 
face of things. 

The horn’s blast was hardly sounded that even- 
ing before Wesley had thrown the canvas covers 
over his engines and started down the by-path into 
the Gulch. He was not yet able to tackle the 
shorter cut down the steep slope of the mezzanine. 
He was feeling just a trifle nervous; he did not 
know why unless it was that he anticipated a little 
embarrassment at having Bobby come in and find 
him getting supper. What with his overtime on 
the hill and his evenings with Easter, he and Bobby 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


183 


had scarcely more than seen each other lately. And 
he had a feeling that sooner or later one of them 
must speak openly of this wreck of the old familiar 
life. He intended to reestablish that old regime 
this very night. But it is harder to adjust a 
strained friendship than to create a new one. Later, 
Wesley attributed his feeling that evening to pre- 
sentiment, that strange force which sometimes 
precedes tangible events and stirs up vague fore- 
bodings. 

Easter was standing in the doorway as he passed 
and he paused to chat a moment with her. She 
wore a gingham apron with bands over her shoul- 
ders and he thought she looked very pretty. 

“You’re early,” she said; “Pm waiting for 
father to come down.” 

“ Yes, I beat the horn to-night.” 

“You’re not ill? Is your foot hurting?” 

“ No,” he said, sitting down on the end of the 
huge log horse-trough; “just kind of — Do you 
ever feel kind of — sort of have the fidgets?” 

“ Kind of feel that something’s going to happen ? 
Yes, I know just what you mean. Guess what 
we’re going to have to-night.” 

“ Popovers ? ” 

“ Yes, and you’ve got to stay and have some.” 

During Wesley’s stay at the Merricks’ cabin, pop- 
overs (a light, hollow, delicious member of the bis- 
cuit family) had won a place which they continued 
to hold in his affection. 


BOY SCOUTS 


1C4 

“ It’s a strong temptation,” he said, “ but I can’t 
stay to-night — I — I’ve got an engagement.” 

u Oh, of course,” the girl retorted, “ if — ” 

“ I don’t mean an engagement exactly, but I’ve 
got to go home.” 

“ For fear poor little Bobby will be lonesome? ” 

“ Not just that, but — I’m going to cook sup- 
per to-night.” 

“ Poor Bobby ! ” the girl said, mockingly, “ what- 
ever did he do before his dear Wesley came? He 
managed to live here all last year and the year be- 
fore. I don’t believe you’re so important to Bobby 
as you seem to think you are.” 

“ Well, I’m not so important to you either, if 
it comes to that,” said Wesley. Then, as she made 
no answer, he added, “ Am I ? ” 

“ Mr. Query, again,” she mocked. 

“Am I?” 

“ Do you think I’d be likely to tell you if you 
were? ” 

It was very charming and pretty, the way she 
said it, and the inference which Wesley drew was 
not unpleasant. 

“ I never said I was so very important to Bobby,” 
he protested, “ but we — somehow — we haven’t 
seen each other nights so much lately.” 

“ And I suppose I’m to blame for that.” 

Wesley felt that she was, indeed, to blame, but 
he was not going to say so. He felt that she was 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


185 

more to blame than himself. More than once it 
had seemed to him odd that this girl should be so 
blind to the friendship between himself and Bobby. 

“No — I don’t say any one’s to blame, but you 
don’t seem to realize — ” 

“You’re always wanting me to realize things! 
I do realize how very important you are to Bobby, 
and I do realize how very important and difficult 
your work is, and how no one else could do it, and 
I do realize what a horrid noise those beastly en- 
gines of yours make, and — and what an impor- 
tant person Mr. Query is getting to be ! ” 

“ I never said I was important,” said Wesley, 
flushing a little. 

“ People don’t say they’re important, they act it. 
You’re getting so all you think about is your old 
work. — You never even asked what was the mat- 
ter with my hand.” 

She allowed a handkerchief-enshrouded finger to 
become visible out of her enfolding hand. 

“ I couldn’t see it with your fist doubled up ; I’m 
not an X-ray.” 

“ You think it’s a joke.” 

“ What is it? ” he asked. 

“ It’s a splinter.” 

“ I should think it was,” he commented, examin- 
ing it. “ It looks more like a lumber-yard. You’ll 
have the Forestry people after you for stealing 
timber.” He produced a little pair of steel dividers. 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 86 

“ What are you going to do? ” 

“ Take it out.” 

“ You can’t — not with that. It’ll hurt. Do you 
think I want to get blood-poisoning ? Let go ! ” 

“ You won’t get blood-poison — ” 

“Let go!” 

“ They’ve got oil on them. Don’t you know 
that’s an anti — what d’you call it ? ” 

" Ouch! ” 

“ Just a minute now,” he said, insistingly. 
“ Don’t you know when an engineer burns his hand 
he always puts engine oil on it ? It’s the best — ” 
“ Ou-u-ch!” 

“ There,” he said, triumphantly, “ it didn’t hurt, 
did it?” 

“ Yes, it did — a lot!” 

“ Easter,” called Mrs. Merrick. 

“ Will you stay ? ” the girl asked. 

There was a pause. “ Do you want me to?” 
“You claim to be so fond of popovers — of 
course, I don’t know if you’re sincere.” 

“ Do you want me to ? ” 

“ Do you want to ? ” 

“ Guess,” he said. 

It was nearly eleven o’clock that night when Wes- 
ley reached home. On the way he had argued with 
himself to such good purpose that he had convinced 
himself Bobby was a regular old recluse. Still, he 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


187 


told himself, he would go home early to-morrow 
night and get supper. It made no difference which 
night it was so long as he did it. There had been 
no definite agreement about it so he hadn’t broken 
his word with any one — unless with himself, but 
that was different. 

By the time he came in sight of the little lighted 
window he had worked himself into quite a de- 
fensive attitude. That vague foreboding still pos- 
sessed him, a kind of hazy presentiment, which made 
him strangely nervous. It could not be expressed 
in any better terms than Easter had expressed it. 
He felt as if something were going to happen. And 
what else could it be but a quarrel with Bobby ? In 
any event, Wesley had thought the whole thing out, 
he had been his own good advocate, and he was 
ready. 

Bobby sat drawn up on his cot reading by the 
lantern whose dim light was not much stimulated 
by the tin reflector, when the young master of East 
Hill entered. 

“ H’lo, Wes.” 

“ H’lo,” said Wesley; “ I was going to come down 
early and get supper, but I got stalled.” 

“ Busy?” 

“ Oh, we manage to keep ahead of the game ; had 
an overflow to-day. Captain sent a fellow up for 
a job, too. We couldn’t use him.” 

“ He’s been hanging around the Gulch for a week, 
that fellow,” commented Bobby. 


1 88 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Huh, ,, said Wesley, and began undressing. 
Bobby watched him steadily while he removed his 
coat and shoes, then he spoke. “ Wes,” said he, 
“ I’ve been sitting up waiting for you ; there’s some- 
thing I want to say.” 

“ I guess I know what it is,” said Wesley. “ I’ve 
got it coming to me. I know how it is. I suppose 
you mean I haven’t taken my turn cooking lately. 
Well, I know I haven’t and it’s dead wrong — I see 
that. Of course, I’ve got no right to bunk here 
and let you do all the work — and leave you alone 
nights.” He flung his khaki jacket sulkily into a 
corner. Bobby watched him quietly. 

“ But everybody isn’t made just alike, you know,” 
Wesley went on. “ I work pretty hard daytimes 
and I’ve made good — ” 

“ I know you have,” said Bobby quietly. 

" And, of course, I realize that if it wasn’t for 
you I wouldn’t have had that chance — ” 

“ You don’t owe me anything, old man.” 

“ Oh yes, I do,” it was the better nature of Wes- 
ley that said that, “ and I don’t forget that either, 
but I’m not like you. I can’t sit here reading nights 
— I never did care for books — stories, I mean. 
Anyway, I think it’s a good thing for a fellow to 
know a girl — kind of influences him — ” 

It was precious little Wesley cared about Easter’s 
“ influence,” and he had never before thought of 
any such benefits from her acquaintance. I dare 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 189 

say he had heard the expression somewhere. Bobby 
smiled a little. 

“ Well, you can laugh,” said Wesley, nettled, 
“ but it does.” 

“ All right, Wes.” 

“ And there’s no use getting sarcastic, either,” 
Wesley continued. “ Say what you want to say, 
but leave her out of it.” 

“ Who?” 

“ You know who.” 

“ I never mentioned any one,” said Bobby. 

“ If you want me to bunk in B Dormitory, say 
so. What’s the use in hinting round? We can be 
friends just the same — can’t we?” 

“ We’ll never be anything else so far as I’m con- 
cerned, Wes.” 

“ I don’t mean to say I want to do it — ” 

“ Then don’t speak of it,” said Bobby. 

“ And I don’t want you to think it’s all on ac- 
count of — the Merricks, either. Sometimes I’ve 
stayed till dark, working — and even later.” 

“ Do you think I don’t know that ? ” 

“ Maybe you think it’s an easy job, up there. I 
can tell you it’s been a case of fight this last week. 
And I’m about all in.” He had begun to feel a lit- 
tle ashamed and he said this in self-defense. It 
seemed to ease his conscience a trifle. 

“ But I don’t say it’s all work.” (There was an 
essence of honesty in Wesley which would out.) 


190 BOY SCOUTS 

“ I know I’ve been around evenings with Miss Mer- 
rick — ” 

“ Easter ? ” 

“ Well, yes — Easter. ,, 

“ You know I knew her two years ago, Wes, 
when we first started out here.” 

“ Oh, I know I’m just an L.H. mushroom,” said 
Wesley, with an unpleasant sneer ; “ but I’ve done 
my work. I’ve worked hard and thought and then 
worked out my thoughts and — You know what 
they say,” he broke off, “ all work and no play — 
Well, I just can’t stick in here night after night for 
you or anybody else. I don’t fall for Jules Verne 
and that other — what’s-his-name ? ” 

“ Stevenson ? ” 

“ They don’t get me. So I suppose we might as 
well have it out and come to an understanding right 
now.” 

“ You mean you want to go over to Dormitory, 
Wes?” 

“ Did I say that? ” said Wesley. 

“ No you didn’t,” said Bobby, earnestly, “ and 
I’m glad you didn’t.” 

“Well, what, then?” 

“ Sit down, Wes,” said Bobby, quietly. “ There 
wasn’t any need for all this you’ve been saying. I 
never complained. I’ve got no cause to complain. 
It seems as if I’d known you all my life, old man. 
What I wanted to say was something else. Will 
you please sit down — and listen ? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


191 

Wesley sat on the edge of his cot, puzzled by 
Bobby’s words no less than by his manner. 

“ I want you to promise me, Wes, that you won’t 
worry and that you’ll leave everything to me. I’m 
going to tell you something; but first, will you 
promise? ” 

“ What is it?” said Wesley, apprehensively; 
“ promise what? ” 

“ Promise to do just as I tell you — will you?” 

“ What’s up ? Is it — is there any trouble — » 
is — ” 

“ You believe I’m your friend, don’t you, Wes? ” 

“Yes,” Wesley conceded, anxiously; “what is 
it?” 

“And will you do as I say?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, there’s a fellow being sent here from 
Washington, Wes, to take your place.” 

Wesley breathed quickly. “ How do you 
know ? ” 

“ There’s a letter down at headquarters. The 
captain was down at the Forks to-day — he hasn’t 
seen it yet.” 

“ He’s C.S.?” 

“ Oh, sure — was at Panama.” 

“ I’ve done my work,” said Wesley defiantly. 

“ I know it, Wes, but these things go by rules. 
We’ve been through this kind of business before, 
you know.” 


192 


BOY SCOUTS 


There followed a pause. 

“ Then I — I — I’m going to lose my position ? ” 

“ No, you’re not — take that from me! ” 

Wesley stared at him for a moment. It was a 
look of utter remorse for the way he had talked and 
of hopelessness for himself. “ There’s no use try- 
ing to let me down easy,” he said. “ I know I’m 
only L.H. I know how the government acts — 
it’s like a big corporation — and it’s politics, too. 
It’s all over for me.” 

He sank down on the cot, a pitiable figure of con- 
trition and despair. He rested his elbows upon his 
knees and held his drooping head in the palms of 
his two hands. 

Bobby went over to him and tried to remove one 
of his hands and make him look up. “ Wes,” said 
he, softly, “ you came in here to-night expecting to 
break up our friendship, but you couldn’t — see? 
Because I wouldn’t let you. Now you’re set on 
losing your position, but you can’t get rid of either 
me or your position as easy as you think, Wes. 

“ Not if I know it,” said Bobby Cullen. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE STORMY PETREL IN ACTION 

So this was what it had all come to! To what 
purpose had he worked and studied and slaved and 
learned the ways of wild water? “I should have 
had sense enough to learn the ways of Uncle Sam/’ 
he told himself, with a sneer. 

All night long he tossed restlessly on his cot. It 
was all very well for Bobby to talk, but a govern- 
ment order was a government order; and the rule 
of the government seemed to be that a position 
should be given to one who was entitled to it by 
reason of letters and printed records and promotion 
schedules and Civil Service tests, and so on. Wes- 
ley did not understand these things. All he knew 
was that he had made this position for himself and 
then had filled it the very best he could. 

Well, in any event, his work had served its chief 
purpose; Harry Arnold was paid — all but three 
dollars and five cents. If Wesley had known then 
how he was to earn that small balance, how he 
would have laughed. 

But he was not in laughing mood now, and no 
encouraging word of Bobby’s or recollection of 
193 


194 


BOY SCOUTS 


the captain’s laconic promise could comfort him. 
He knew that in the complicated meshes of the gov- 
ernment system, rule was supreme. He was to be 
simply swept away, crushed, by the heartless, slow- 
moving government machinery. 

“ Come on, Wes, get up. Don’t grouch around 
now. Get busy ! ” 

Wesley knew what he was to do. He was going 
to headquarters with Bobby. He was in Bobby’s 
hands now. 

Work was just commencing in the Gulch as the 
two hurried along. Save for an occasional stroll in 
the evening, Wesley had never been down to the 
dam since the day of his arrival in the Gulch. The 
interior of that little concrete building which perched 
high up, close by one end of the dam, had been a 
mystery to him, and a fruitful theme for specula- 
tion. 

Wesley had always envied Bobby his free access 
to this imperial place. For Bobby, who beside his 
regular work was a sort of private secretary to the 
captain, thought nothing of dropping his transit in 
a corner here and scanning the open mail. 

Wesley had seen the head-engineers about the 
Gulch; he knew them by sight, the dignified Bron- 
son; the burly, swaggering, off-hand Mr. Barney 
whom everybody liked; but Bobby’s gossiping re- 
ports of what went on there, of how Mr. Bronson 
had said this and the captain had answered so-and- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


195 


so, and swung round in his chair, or how Mr. 
Barney ate sandwiches out of blue-print wrappers 
and told such and such a joke to Bronson (which 
Bronson didn’t see, as usual), all this had the effect 
of bringing these exalted personages very clearly 
into Wesley’s vision and he had been fascinated at 
these delectable glimpses of “ behind the scenes ” 
given by the privileged Bobby. 

The Stars and Stripes were being raised on the 
pretty little building, and as Wesley looked at the 
flag he gave his old cynical chuckle, as if the em- 
blem were a mere mockery. We can forgive him 
that ; he was to learn better. 

They went up a narrow iron ladder to the summit 
of the dam, then along its foot-way and across a 
tidy little lawn in the center of which were the let- 
ters, U. S., formed with red geraniums. Inside 
the building was the fresh, cool atmosphere diffused 
by cement. They went up and round and round a 
spiral iron stairway and into a cool room with blue- 
prints all over the wall. 

Captain Craig sat at one desk, Mr. Barney at 
another, filling the swivel chair so that his khaki 
jacket bulged out between its rungs. 

“ Hello, Wesley,” said the captain, surprised but 
cordial ; “ so you turned our friend down.” 

“ I really didn’t see anything for him to do,” said 
Wesley. 

“ Well, that’s right,” said the captain. 


196 


BOY SCOUTS 


Bobby was rooting among a pile of letters on 
Mr. Bronson's desk. Hauling one out, he brought 
it over and placed it before the captain. “ Did you 
see that? ” he asked. 

The captain took it, read it through, then dropped 
it before him. “ Huh,” he said, amusedly. 

Wesley stood waiting, nervous, fearful as he had 
been that day at Governor’s Island when he awaited 
the word which meant so much to him. He had 
come to love the Gulch, and now, in his extremity, 
all its familiar life seemed dear to him. The call- 
ing of men outside, the metallic sound of the great 
steel crane close at hand, the rattle of the car which 
was dumping broken stone for the rip-rap work, all 
these things spoke to him familiarly of a life that 
was now slipping away. The misunderstanding be- 
tween himself and Bobby, that seemed as nothing. 
The friendship of Easter and that of his chum did 
not seem to knock against each other now; these 
things would adjust themselves if only he might 
stay and be a part of all this and go on with the 
work he had grown to understand and love. He 
had all he could do to control himself and Bobby’s 
voice sounded strange to him. 

“ I wanted you to see that, Captain, before any 
one else had a chance to answer it; and I made Wes 
come along so he’d be right here and you wouldn’t 
have to send if you wanted him.” 

Mr. Barney glanced around, then resumed his 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


197 

figuring and showed no more interest in what took 
place. 

“ Yes,” said the captain, tersely. “ How’s the 
work coming on, Wesley?” 

His swivel chair was swung around so that he 
faced the boys, and he sat back, one knee crossed 
over the other. Wesley stood before him; Bobby 
was perched upon a table. 

“ Oh, it’s all right,” said Wesley, nervously; “ we 
had a tough week.” 

“ How’s your foot? ” 

“ Bothers me some — but not so much.” 

“ It bothers him a good deal,” put in Bobby. 

Wesley gulped nervously and then spoke. The 
captain listened, looking straight at him, and wait- 
ing patiently when the boy’s voice broke and he had 
to pause before he could go on. 

“ There’s one thing I want to say, Captain. I 
know how it is in the — the government. And 
when you said if I did — all right it would be ap- 
preciated — I — of course, I knew it meant — by 
you. But, of course, I know that you’re not the 
government and I’m not so unfair that I’d feel any 
grudge — I don’t mean grudge exactly — but — I 
guess you know what I mean — ” 

“ I think I do.” 

“ And it’s done me a lot of good, anyway — 
there’s that much. It’s opened my eyes and — ” 

“ I’m glad it has, Wesley.” 


198 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ It — it’s enabled me to do one thing that you 
don’t know anything about. And it’s showed me 
what I think I’m fitted for. I mean to be an en- 
gineer.” 

“ Yes, I think that’s your forte.” 

“ I — I see now — I wasted a lot of time — I 
might have gotten ready and taken Civil Service 
exams a year ago — only — only — ” 

“ I understand,” said the captain ; “ sit down, 
Wesley.” 

For a moment he sat, the finger-tips of his two 
hands set together, just as he had sat that day at 
Governor’s Island while waiting for Wesley to let- 
ter his name. 

“ I — I’ve done my best,” said Wesley ; “ maybe 
if I’d had technical — ” 

“ Bobby,” said the captain, briskly, “ see if Con- 
way is down stairs. That was all you wished to 
say to me, Wesley? ” 

“ Except that I thank you ; you’ve given me a 
start and — and nothing will keep me back now.” 

“ I’m glad to hear you say that.” 

The boy rose. 

“ Sit down, Wesley.” 

A round-shouldered, insignificant-looking young 
fellow, wearing a shiny alpaca coat, came trotting 
up the spiral iron steps. He carried a stenogra- 
pher’s note-book and a pencil and somehow, by his 
familiar clutch of them, gave the impression that 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


199 


he never ventured forth without this trusty sword 
and shield. He had an indoors, civilian look, 
wholly out of keeping with the appearance of the 
others. For some reason, Bobby, swinging his legs 
back and forth from the table, winked at Wesley. 
With a manner of undeviating routine the young 
man drew a chair up to the table on which Bobby 
was perched and, troubled as he was, Wesley was 
conscious of a little amusement, he and Bobby 
seemed so different. Bobby seldom sat on a chair, 
there was nothing about him suggestive of hum- 
drum, and he maintained a gay and familiar free- 
dom in the face of authority. He seemed per- 
fectly at home, yet out of place, here. He had the 
unceremoniousness bred by a life in the open coun- 
try and of one habituated to being called hundreds 
of miles at a minute’s notice. At present he had a 
look in his eye as if he were ready to see some fun. 
Conway was silently deferential. 

“ Send this to Clausen,” said the captain, imper- 
sonally. 

As he began dictating in his crisp, rapid way, 
Bobby leered mischievously at Wesley and winked 
again. 

“ We are in receipt of your letter of the 2nd 
inst.,” began the captain, “ advising us of the de- 
parture of a young man, recently from Panama, to 
assume charge of the erosion work on East Hill. 


200 


BOY SCOUTS 


The work in question is going forward in charge 
of a very competent young man whom I was for- 
tunate to have by me, and who originated the de- 
flection system which is being followed. He will 
not be dismissed or reduced without good and suf- 
ficient cause. He is scheduled as local help and 
receiving local-help wages, so I am not aware of 
any rule being violated ( governmental rule, say, 
Conway). 

“ In connection with this matter, I should like to 
remind you that a year ago, in our report, the need 
of competent supervision of these saplings was very 
strongly emphasized and further urged in a letter 
sent by myself shortly thereafter. (Give them the 
date of the report, Conway, and send a copy of the 
letter.) No attention whatever was paid to these 
representations. In our report six months ago 
(given them the exact date, Conway) the destruc- 
tion of eight per cent, (see if it wasn’t nine, Con- 
way) of these saplings was set forth and the 
urgency repeated of the need of some experienced 
person to control or check this erosive action. 

“ Reply was made ( belated reply, Conway) — 
belated reply was made (give the date) that this 
would be attended to. 

“ When I visited the Gulch on my way back from 
Oregon in February last, I was surprised to hear 
from Mr. Winters, of the Forestry Bureau, who 
was visiting the neighboring reservation, that noth- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


201 


ing had been done to conserve this planted territory, 
and he mentioned the amount of loss accruing from 
this oversight (from this neglect , Conway) as prob- 
ably more than eight thousand dollars. Pursuant 
to my conversation with him, I visited Washington 
on my way east and made a very urgent request 
about what seemed to be regarded there as a rather 
trifling matter. I mentioned that the work was in 
charge of foreign laborers. 

“ After my inspection of the Catskill viaduct at 
the request of the New York engineers, I accom- 
panied two of my personal assistants up one or two 
of the smaller New Jersey rivers and returning to 
New York, received notice to send one of them to 
Washington forthwith. It had been my intention 
to place him in charge at East Hill directly upon our 
arrival at the Gulch if no one had been sent out for 
that purpose. 

“ On our arrival in Montana I found that the 
promise made me in Washington had not been ful- 
filled, and that no one was in charge upon the slope. 
I had naturally assumed that the withdrawal (say, 
unexplained withdrawal, Conway) of my assistant 
would result in some one being sent to the Gulch at 
once. 

“ By the last forest inventory twenty per cent, of 
these saplings had been utterly lost and the work 
being done to check further loss showed great ig- 
norance and waste. In this predicament I was able, 


202 


BOY SCOUTS 


fortunately, to select from the subordinate staff here 
a young man who has made this work successful. 
He will remain in charge there until the rains and 
freshets subside. I shall take him with me down to 
the Mississippi. 

“ When the young man you are sending arrives 
he will be given such ordinary duties as may require 
attention, though I may add that there remains very 
little to be done in the labor force. 

(“ That’s all, Conway.”) 

Conway rose impassively; the letter was nothing 
to him — no letter was — and had reached the top 
step of the spiral stairway when the captain called, 
“ One minute, Conway.” Conway mechanically 
opened his book on the rail of the balustrade. 

“ P. S.,” said the captain, grimly ; “ the young 
man from Panama who was sent here three months 
since to assist in the grouting was reduced to less 
important duties by reason of carelessness and in- 
competency. 

(“That’s all, Conway.”) 

“ Good shot,” ventured Bobby, laconically. 

The broad back of Mr. Barney could be seen to 
shake as he sat at his desk. His face was not vis- 
ible, but he was undoubtedly chuckling. 

The fact is, he himself had won a reputation at 
Panama. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THAT FELLOW, THE MARTYR 

“ You never saw the captain knock out a home- 
run before, did you? ” said Bobby as he and Wesley 
crossed the headquarters lawn. 

“ No,” Wesley laughed gayly, “ that was a home- 
run — right off the bat.” 

“ He knocks out one like that twice a year, rain 
or shine,” said Bobby. 

“ But when they get it, won’t they — ” 

“ It’ll act like a dose of chloroform. They usu- 
ally frame the captain’s letters. Don’t you worry.” 

“ I’m not worrying,” Wesley laughed, “ but it 
gave me a good scare, I can tell you that.” 

“ Haven’t I got the captain trained ? ” Bobby 
asked, with unconcealed pride ; “ I had it all planned 
out last night. I know him like South Pass.” 

Wesley laughed. He found it very easy to laugh. 

“ And the funny thing,” continued Bobby, “ is 
that he thinks he’s my boss, when all the time I can 
make him do just whatever I please. Didn’t I chase 
him to the cabin that morning when he started you 
up to East Hill? Oh,” he added with a fiendishly 
203 


204 


BOY SCOUTS 


delighted air of self-approbation and triumph, “ I’ve 
got him cinched! ” 

Wesley laughed again. There was something 
about Bobby, about his frank complacency regard- 
ing his subtle influence at headquarters, his refresh- 
ing freedom from any kind of affectation, his habit 
of taking things as they came and meeting them 
squarely, his familiarity with high officials and his 
curious lack of silly pride thereat ; there was some- 
thing about all this that gave him a certain at- 
tractiveness which everybody surrendered to by 
common consent. He had dozens of friends, and 
yet in a way he had no friend but Wesley. 

“ Well, it’s you who’ve helped me again,” said 
Wesley, “ and only last night — ” 

“ Forget it,” said Bobby. 

Wesley didn’t forget it, but he was satisfied to 
change the subject. “ Do you know, Bobby,” said 
he, “ it seems funny to see you without your transit. 
Whenever I see you, you have it over your shoul- 
der.” 

“ I’m going home to get it,” said Bobby ; “ we’re 
working down near the Forks to-day. — Oh, here 
comes Mike!” he suddenly vociferated. “Now 
you’ll see some fun ! ” 

A collision between Mike and Bobby always 
meant fun, and Wesley was never more in the mood 
for it than just at that minute. The dark cloud 
which had overhung him all night was dispelled, and 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


205 


with it had gone whatever of estrangement there 
had been between himself and Bobby. So he had 
even gained by the incident. The whole atmosphere 
seemed to have been cleared. He found it easy to 
talk to Bobby now. He would also give Miss 
Easter Merrick a few gratuitous hints on what 
friendship meant between two fellows. Everything 
would be all right now. If he had been a little off 
the path this affair had set him right. He knew 
the captain had said no more than the plain truth 
when he had said that the work was being satis- 
factorily done. And in all reason, why should he 
not go on with it, and be the young master of East 
Hill? He was a self-made young man, and when 
a person is self-made he comes pretty near to know- 
ing it. He would drop into Luke Merrick’s for 
luncheon and tell them all about it, about the cap- 
tain’s “ home-run.” Should he feel sorry for the 
young fellow who was coming? Well, in a way, 
yes; but that was no concern of his. . . . 

Mike came along, driving his trusty team. He 
wore a striped ticking jacket and the advertising 
buttons upon his ventilated hat had increased in 
number so that their name was legion. They be- 
sought you to vote for So-and-So ; they commanded 
you to eat “ Crisplets ” ; they reminded you that 
“ Mechanic’s Delight ” was the only tobacco. Sev- 
eral of them said, “ Votes for Women.” Mike was 
a walking advertisement. 


206 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Are yez takin’ a day off? ” he began, by way of 
opening hostilities. 

“ Say, Mike,” said Bobby, innocently, “ did you 
know that fellow they had a while ago down at the 
dam was reduced? ” 

“ Oi’ve enough ter do, mindin’ me own business.” 

“ 4 Ignorance and waste,’ the captain said.” This 
was rather a free handling of the captain’s dictated 
phrase, but it did very well. 

“ The fellow was from Panama,” Bobby added. 

“Fwhat?” demanded Mike. 

“ Ignorant and incompetent,” said Bobby, laconi- 
cally. 

“ Wall, an’—” 

“ But that isn’t the worst, Mike, or rather the 
best. Query just had a pretty narrow squeak. It’s 
good he’s here or we’d have had another one of 
that Canal bunch dumped on us up East Hill way. 
What do you think of the nerve of them, honest, 
Mike? ” he urged with an air of friendly confidence; 
“ they started one of those fat-heads out here to 
take Query’s place, but they’re not going to get 
away with it.” 

“ From Panamar? ” 

“ Surest thing you know ; that crowd are all hunt- 
ing jobs. And when he toddles in, Wesley’s going 
to have his fingers crossed — see ? ” 

“ Wall, Query’s all roight, Oi’ll say that much 
fer ’im — an’ I alius said it. — Fwhat will th’ other 
lad do?” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


207 


“ What can he do ? He’s not good for anything.” 

“ Fwhat are ye givin’ me? ” shouted Mike. “ A 
feller as wuz undther th’ Ould Man , 1 no good! 
He’ll hev charrge uv th’ crown worrk, more like ! ” 

“ He’ll have charge of a pick and shovel, more 
like,” said Bobby. “ The captain will rubber-stamp 
him, all right.” 

“ ’Tis all roight, an’ Oi’m glad fer Query, if ’tis 
truth ye’re tellin’, but ye can’t kape a good man 
down.” 

“ The captain just sent a pretty little note to 
Washington, telling them that our tropical friend 
will be given such chores — ” 

“Wuz Barney there?” 

“ Sure ; he looked awfully ashamed — I felt sorry 
for him. He’s got some ability anyway, even if 
he did work down there.” 

“ Don’t make much difference to me what he 
does,” said Wesley, laughing at Mike’s perturba- 
tion. “ I’ll do my work, I know that, and I’ll hang 
on to it, too — Panama or no Panama.” 

“ They’re brisk lads, thim,” said Mike, ruefully. 

“ Only they can’t play in our yard,” said Bobby. 

“Do Oi know ’im?” said Mike. “ Fwhat’s his 
name ? ” 

“ What was his name, Wes? ” 

“ I didn’t see the letter,” said Wesley, “ and I 

1 Col. Goethals, familiarly known among the Canal force as 
the “ Old Man.” 


208 


BOY SCOUTS 


don’t care much, either; his name is Mud, I guess.” 

“ I think it was Arnold,” said Bobby ; “ sure, that 
was it — Harry Arnold.” 

“Fwhat!” roared Mike, “him as wuz wid me 
on 82 ? ” 2 

“ His number’s twenty-three, now,” said Bobby. 

Wesley stood as if petrified. There was a curi- 
ous sensation in his chest. He bit his lip nervously. 
He tried to laugh with Bobby at Mike’s expression 
of utter amazement, but it was a sickly laugh. 

“ I guess you must have hoodooed him, Mike,” 
said Bobby. “ Well, so long,” he added. “ I’m 
going after my transit.” 

“ W-wait — just a minute,” stammered Wesley. 

“ Can’t,” called Bobby, hastening off in his usual 
erratic fashion ; “ I’m late now.” 

He had had his fun and he left Wesley to further 
divert himself with Mike. If he had known the 
mad thought which had broken into Wesley’s mind 
he would have waited. 

“ Wall, ’twill be good fer th’ blues ter see ’im,” 
said Mike, smiling reminiscently and half incred- 
ulously. “ Be jiggers, th’ worrld ain’t so big after 
all!” 

“ D-do you know him? ” Wesley stammered. 

“Know ’im? Didn’t me and him worrk wid 
Barney ? Know ’im ! Him as they called ‘ Kid ’ ! 

2 The number of the steam-shovel on which both Harry 
Arnold and Mike had worked in Panama. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


209 

That’s him — Harry Arnold. He coom frum 
Jerrsey, too.” 

His face seemed radiant with pleasant memories. 
“ An’ Oi don’t carre much fwhat they set ’im to, 
nather, s’long’s he comes.” 

He trudged away, the chain traces jangling on 
the ground, and Wesley watched his retreating fig- 
ure in a kind of daze. Then he drew himself to- 
gether and tried to think. The bright, clear sky 
had lasted but a minute, and again a black cloud 
overhung him. 

He asked himself if he were afraid or ashamed 
to meet Arnold. He decided that he was not; he 
had written a letter incriminating himself unmerci- 
fully and making promise of restitution ; and he had 
kept the promise. He had kept it under circum- 
stances highly creditable to himself. He had gone 
penniless (save for the little change left over from 
his purchases in New York) ; he had taxed and 
strained his eyes (his occasional racking headaches 
testified to that) ; he had studied, thought, worked, 
made a place for himself, wedged open an oppor- 
tunity, gone up on East Hill and — 

What? Taken something which did not belong 
to him; stolen something more from Arnold. 

His remorse at what he had done in Oakwood 
made him morbid. 

These were his thoughts as he limped up to his 
own beloved domain in East Hill. This affair was 


210 


BOY SCOUTS 


no longer one between Captain Craig and Washing- 
ton; it was between Harry Arnold and himself. 

I told you that Wesley’s imagination was his good 
friend. It had given him a feeling of sympathy, 
which few could comprehend, for that grand, har- 
assed old stump. But it was also his tormentor. 
Where you find imagination you are apt to find 
superstition, and Wesley had a conviction now, 
which he could not overcome, that this was his pun- 
ishment, his expiation; that he should be permitted 
to live down the past, make amends, be worthy and 
useful, have prospects, and then be coldly required 
by fate to hand these treasures over to the person 
he had wronged. By all the rules of honest en- 
deavor, intelligence, study, experience, Arnold was 
entitled to this position. Arnold had come along 
through the legitimate, prescribed avenues of suc- 
cess, to this place which he, Wesley, held. He, 
Wesley, had taken a short-cut into it, sneaked into 
it. Oh, how different now seemed that curt letter 
to Washington! 

What would Arnold do? What would he say? 
What would he think? 

As Wesley stooped to correct the mixture of one 
of his engines, his hand trembled visibly. He hob- 
bled over to the other one. 

All day, Harry Arnold in a blue flannel shirt 
followed Wesley about. He pictured Arnold, 
laughing and saying, “ Forget it,” when he spoke 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


21 1 


of the letter and the money. He did not know 
that Arnold had never received either. He did not 
know that Oakwood believed him dead. He saw 
Arnold engaged in some ordinary labor while he, 
Wesley, remained enthroned on East Hill. Of 
course, Arnold wouldn’t blame him — that wouldn’t 
be Arnold. 

But had not Arnold suffered quite enough at his 
hands? Should he keep this position which be- 
longed to Arnold? Had it not served its purpose? 
How plain was the intent of destiny! He should 
have this position to make ready for Arnold and 
at the same time get from it the money with which 
to pay his debt. Then when the money was paid 
and the position ready . . . 

“ I won’t give them the chance to humiliate him, 
to put me above him,” he said. You would have 
supposed that his benefactors were his enemies and 
that they were in a conspiracy against Arnold. 

“ I stole his money and I stole his canoe. I — 
I’m not going to steal his position,” he said. “ No- 
body can make me. I’m not — I’m not a thief!” 

He sat down on the rough wooden bench beside 
one of the engines. He had worked himself into 
quite a state. The little demon chugged merrily 
away, throwing the water over into Ditch C; the 
water that had come down in the delusive hope of 
getting among the trees. 

“ I’m not a thief” he repeated, with a kind of 


212 


BOY SCOUTS 


pitiful resolution. “If — if anybody thinks — 
I — I’m afraid to meet him — I’m not afraid to 
meet him — but I won’t give them the chance — I 
— I’m not a thief ! 

He did not look much like the young master of 
East Hill. He was just Wesley Bin ford, struggling 
with this new problem. He was always striving, 
and doing the best he could. If it wasn’t this that 
filled his eyes and made the Gulch seem a blur be- 
neath him, it would have been weariness or eye- 
strain — it was always something. . . . 

That evening he left early, went home and got 
his few things together. They were so few that he 
bunched them up into a piece of tick, like a peddler’s 
pack. As he hobbled along with this through the 
quiet, dusk-enshrouded Gulch, a score of people 
saw him who, with a little laugh and a friendly word, 
might have turned the course of his future life. 
But they thought that Query was on his way to 
Laundry Cabin. One of them, a woman looking 
from her cabin door while waiting for the supper 
to cook, remarked to her husband that Query still 
limped, that she believed he would always limp. 
From the Merricks’ cabin rose a cheerful and invit- 
ing smoke; perhaps they were going to have pop- 
overs for supper. 

He went up the by-path to his own East Hill. 
He adjusted the tarpaulin covers on his two engines ; 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


213 


he replenished one of the tanks from a gasoline 
supply can. Then he opened the little sluice to 
Ditch B as he always did when the engines were not 
running. Then he went on up the hill, carefully 
over the logs which spanned the main catch-ditch. 
He would make his way to the nearest city. He 
could do that somehow. In the city he could earn 
a little money, as a laborer, perhaps; and so get to 
something else. One has to live. 

The trail was not so easy to find in the gathering 
darkness as he had thought it would be, but he picked 
it out at last, and hurrying along with that charac- 
teristic limp by which he favored his injured foot, 
was soon enveloped in the dense forest. 


CHAPTER XVII 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE 

It was Walters, of the Topographic Squad, who 
went down with the buckboard and met Harry 
Arnold at Gulch Station. 

“ I liked him the minute I saw him,” Walters 
told Captain Craig later. 

The disappearance of Wesley had caused wonder 
among the few who saw him daily, but the news of 
it had not been disseminated generally through the 
Gulch's community, for it had only just occurred 
at the time of Harry’s arrival. At headquarters 
Captain Craig was dumbfounded; he questioned 
Bobby who told him all he knew, and then sent for 
Mike, he being the last person known to have con- 
versed with Wesley. Then he sat back, thought a 
few minutes, shook his head in perplexity, and gave 
it up as a puzzle. He was annoyed as well as mysti- 
fied, for he had entertained high hopes of Wesley. 
But a man with Captain Craig’s engrossing duties 
could not afford to cogitate long on such a matter. 
East Hill was but an item of his multifarious re- 
sponsibilities, and the riddle of the boy’s uncere- 
monious departure was soon laid by in the practical 
214 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


215 


consideration of who should do the work, and Wes- 
ley’s purpose was successful in that, at least, for the 
position fell naturally to Harry Arnold. Wesley 
had done for him what no one else could have done, 
for with the Stormy Petrel down in that little ce- 
ment building, Wesley’s position would have been 
as dependable as the Rock of Gibraltar. 

In the course of time Harry heard about the young 
fellow, Query, who had previously had charge of the 
work and who had gone away suddenly, but it never 
occurred to him that he had to thank that same 
Query for the position which he held. His salary, 
instead of twenty-five dollars was ninety dollars a 
month. He had not Wesley’s original difficulties 
for he found the work in running condition, and it 
was to the credit of Wesley that Harry saw nothing 
to alter by way of improving and facilitating the 
work. There were little things here and there which 
his experience and technical training enabled him to 
improve, but nothing in the nature of a sweeping 
change. For Mike Kerrigan was right, engineers 
are born, not made, and East Hill was an irrefut- 
able witness that Wesley Binford was born to be an 
engineer. 

For several days after Harry’s arrival it was like 
a reunion of old home folks what with his meeting 
with his old “ boss,” Mr. Barney, and the vocifer- 
ous welcome which he received from Mike. It made 
him feel quite at home. Captain Craig, too, greeted 


2l6 


BOY SCOUTS 


him cordially and with a sense of the fitness of things 
turned him over to Mr. Barney and washed his 
hands of East Hill altogether. Harry regarded 
the captain with unconcealed admiration, little know- 
ing he had stood between himself and his position. 

It was not long, however, before he began to feel 
an undercurrent of bias against him among the un- 
reasoning element, who regarded him as a sort of 
usurper of the throne of their young hero, Query. 
He did not know the cause of this irrational dislike 
and it puzzled him and troubled him. If you wish 
to see loyalty carried to the point of prejudice you 
have to observe the young ladies, and Easter Mer- 
rick treated Harry with dignified scorn as if he had 
stolen East Hill from its rightful owner. 

Bobby, too, resented Harry’s advent and stu- 
diously avoided making his acquaintance. His at- 
titude toward the new arrival was wholly unreason- 
able, but Bobby was only human (and very human 
at that), and it got on his nerves, as he said, to see 
the complacent way in which Arnold had taken up 
the work. He could not bear to see him going to 
and from East Hill; he could never think of that 
spot as belonging to any one but Wesley, and he 
fancied Harry a pushing, heartless fellow who 
thought of nothing but his own advantage. 

He suspected that Wesley had gone away for fear 
the captain would still be over-ruled by Washington, 
and to save himself the humiliation of having to 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


217 


back down after all. If Bobby cherished any re- 
sentment toward Wesley it was that he believed his 
chum had not placed sufficient confidence in the cap- 
tain. For the rest, he looked upon this “ Panama 
pri g,” as he called Harry, as the cause of all that 
had happened, as one who had come to reap where 
Wesley had sown, the usurper of his friend’s op- 
portunity and the destroyer of a friendship. 

In his state of mind it was easy to feed this preju- 
dice with all sorts of plausible notions and he asked 
himself why Arnold, if he was really such a fine 
fellow as Mike said he was, did not inquire who had 
planned this work on the hill, why he did not praise 
the skill of his predecessor, and display some curi- 
osity about the lame fellow, Query, who had looped 
the great rock on the mezzanine and out-maneuvered 
the wild water on East Hill. It never occurred to 
Bobby that he had given Harry no chance to exhibit 
such interest. 

Bobby lived alone now with only his harmonica 
to console him, and in his loyalty to his departed 
friend, he grouped all Panama men into a sort of 
band of conspirators, Mike, Mr. Barney, Arnold, 
and all, thriving on hollow reputations, and he 
viewed them all with a kind of tolerant contempt 
which greatly amused Captain Craig, no less than 
Mr. Barney himself. 

So it fell out that the young fellow who had been 
so popular down at the Isthmus, whom everybody 


2 18 


BOY SCOUTS 


had always liked wherever he went, found himself 
to some extent in an atmosphere of coldness, where 
one or two markedly avoided him and others showed 
no inclination to make friends with him. 

It was among the unskilled force and largely 
among the women that he noticed this for many of 
these people had instinctively adopted Bobby’s view 
of the matter and looked upon Query as in some 
way a martyr to official red tape and heartless sys- 
tem. 

At headquarters it was different. Mr. Barney 
knew Harry of old and they were stanch friends. 
Captain Craig, too, was quick to perceive his good 
qualities, and liked him; and Walters, who had 
never seen much of Wesley, cultivated Harry and 
liked him immensely. 

Nevertheless, the boy’s position in the Gulch was 
not a comfortable one. His nature was social, frank 
and open. With all respect to Mr. Bobby Cullen, 
there was no suggestion of the “ prig ” about him. 
He could not understand why people would not meet 
him half way. Bobby, I am sorry to say, allowed 
his prejudice and disappointment and his fondness 
for Wesley to run away with his good sense and his 
avoidance of Harry ran to the point of rudeness. 

But Bobby had something on his mind which no 
one knew, and he was scarcely himself. Among 
other honors which his likable personality had 
brought him was the treasurership of the Gulch Min- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


219 


strels, an association of some dozen or more of the 
Gulch’s people formed to supply the beguilements 
of music, song and other forms of entertainment, in 
the evenings. It fell to the Gulch Minstrels to see 
that all national holidays were properly celebrated, 
and the spacious Supplies Cabin was their theater. 
Here might be heard the plaintive notes of Mike’s 
accordion, and on these high-day occasions one of 
the engineers usually made a speech. 

In Bobby’s cabin was an old chest of drawers and 
in the top drawer was a tin box in which he kept his 
smaller instruments. There was the drawing set 
which Wesley used to use, a jewel-set mariner’s 
compass, and other small things. Here also he kept 
the modest funds of the Gulch Minstrels. 

It was about two or three weeks after Wesley’s 
departure that Bobby opened this box to balance up 
his little account prior to a meeting of the Minstrels. 
The twenty-odd dollars which should have been 
there was gone. There was no lock to the box; 
he and Wesley had both used it, and the only safe- 
guard they had ever had against robbery was the 
lock on the cabin door, and the proximity of the 
cabin to the Supplies Cabin, whose occupants were 
always about. 

For a day Bobby tried not to think of Wesley in 
connection with the loss, but certain obstinate facts 
kept obtruding themselves into his mind. Wesley 
had had no money, he knew, for he had sent away 


220 


BOY SCOUTS 


all he had received — to his parents, Bobby sup- 
posed, although Wesley had never spoken of them. 

How could he have gone away without money? 
Where could he hope to get to ? At evening Bobby 
went into the little Post Office cabin, and asked the 
paymaster if Wesley had tried to draw what was 
due him at the time of leaving. He learned that 
there was a small sum due Wesley, which he had 
not asked for and which he would not have received 
at the time if he had asked for it. He went back 
to his cabin and ate his lonely supper, sick at heart. 
Not for one moment, he told himself, would he 
suspect Wesley, but he was sick at heart all the same. 

He passed such a night as he hoped never again 
to pass as long as he lived, and in the morning he 
awoke, or rather arose, with that vague, unconquer- 
able doubt still haunting him, and with a new com- 
plication to make matters worse. 

The next night was meeting when he must render 
his account. What should he say? What would 
these people think? What would be the logical in- 
ference ? They would suspect his friend. He could 
browbeat and subdue his own doubts and fears. 
His fondness for Wesley and the memory of their 
friendship was strong enough for anything; strong 
enough to make him prejudiced and irrational, and 
even rude; strong enough to throttle suspicion and 
renounce the logical inference. But how about 
these other people, whose money was gone ? They 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


221 


would put this and that together and shake their 
heads meaningly and reflect that their treasurer’s 
cabin-mate was gone too ; gone without leave or ex- 
planation; not gone as most people go, but disap- 
peared. And it happened that Bobby had no money 
of his own on hand. He had little use for it and 
most of it went home by money order. If he had 
the sum he could render his account and then . . . 

Why, then just go on worrying, and beating down 
these persistent thoughts, and tossing on his lonely 
cot in his lonely cabin, the same as before. 

He must publish the fact of this embezzlement the 
next night, and let people think what they would. 
He knew what he would think, and that was that 
his friend was as honest as . . . 

Poor Bobby ; it was too much for him ; and when, 
after a day of torment, the evening of the meeting 
was at hand, he was hardly better than a wreck. 
For a moment he had a wild thought of not going 
to the meeting, of sending word that he was tired 
out and sick. It would have been no more than 
the truth. But then the instinctive feeling took 
possession of him that a person who is responsible 
for money and who is to render an account of it, 
has no business to be tired out and sick. Besides, 
how would delay help matters? Would it bring 
him the money? 

On his way into the Gulch he stopped, resolved to 
tell the captain. The captain believed in Wesley; 


222 


BOY SCOUTS 


but suppose he should look doubtful or suspicious. 

The complacent Conway in his shiny alpaca sat 
at his table as Bobby went in and it made him furi- 
ous that Conway seemed so impassive and disinter- 
ested. Conway never had any worries. “ If I dic- 
tated a letter to Conway,” thought Bobby, “ and said 
there were sixteen murders and forty-’leven suicides 
to-day, he’d just take it down and say, ‘ Is that 
all? 9 ” 

Half way up the spiral stairs he turned around 
and went down again and out among the crown- 
work men who were just going home. He could 
not tell the captain. 

Should he tell Mike? Mike was a sensible, 
shrewd Irishman who often made good suggestions. 
But he was one of that Panama gang. . . . 

Poor Bobby. 

No, he could not tell any one. Yet in three or 
four hours he must tell every one. There was still 
time to go back and tell the captain, and he paused, 
irresolute. Then he went on homeward to get his 
supper. 

And of all the people in the Gulch whom do you 
suppose that Bobby Cullen made a confidant of that 
evening? 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FRIENDS IN NEED 

Harry Arnold came down the by-path on his 
way home from the hill that evening. Easter was 
outside the Merrick cabin and he bowed and slack- 
ened his pace as if to speak with her; but she did 
not encourage him at all, and presently he was in 
the embarrassing position of standing there alone, 
for Easter had disappeared within the cabin. 

Harry was not accustomed to being snubbed by 
girls and he was a little hurt and very much puzzled. 
What could be her reason? If Gordon Lord had 
been there he would doubtless have been able to 
enlighten him out of his own wide experience and 
observation, and tell him that a girl does not have 
to have a reason ; that she can do very well without 
one. Harry had been properly introduced to 
Easter and it was a wholly new experience for him 
to be slighted in this way. He wondered what he 
had done or failed to do to lay himself under this 
girl's displeasure. 

However, there was nothing for him to do but 
go on ; so he walked on, thinking of this odd treat- 
ment, and before he had gone very far he resolved 
223 


224 


BOY SCOUTS 


on a bold course of action which was very charac- 
teristic of his frank nature. He could not intrude 
himself upon the girl, but he could intrude himself 
upon that other person who had so conspicuously 
ignored and snubbed him. He would take the bull 
by the horns and speak to Bobby Cullen. 

With this resolve he went on past his own dormi- 
tory and straight to Bobby’s cabin. Easter’s snub 
was the immediate incentive and he was glad that 
an incentive had presented itself. There was no 
tinge of self-consciousness or hesitancy about 
Harry ; his inherent sincerity always took him 
straight to the root of a matter and he had the 
openness and the courage which knows no silly em- 
barrassment. 

Hence it was that as Bobby set the coffee-pot on 
his little makeshift table he became conscious of 
that obnoxious figure in the doorway. If Harry 
had only known it, it was a most unpropitious mo- 
ment for a call, for Bobby was beset with the worry 
which had haunted him all day, and the thought of 
the meeting not two hours away. It is also a fact, 
for which I can assign no possible justification, that 
the loss of this money and the misgivings and anx- 
ieties which it engendered in Bobby had set him 
still more resolutely against the new master of 
East Hill. So Harry’s appearance had rather the 
effect of waving a red flag before the bull than of 
taking him by the horns. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


225 


“ Hello,” said he, cordially. 

" H’lo,” grunted Bobby. 

“ Busy?” 

“ Busy enough.” 

“ May I sit down ? ” 

Bobby looked as if he rather admired his nerve. 
“ Guess there’s no law against sitting down,” he 
said. 

“ Well, if there is I’ll break the law,” said Harry, 
pleasantly. “ I’m pretty tired.” 

“ Nothing to be tired about that I can see,” said 
Bobby, coldly. “ East Hill about runs itself now ; 
all you've got to do is stand and watch it.” 

Harry perched himself on Bobby’s couch, drew 
his knees up and clasped his hands over them. 
“ Thanks to the fellow that planned it,” he said, 
cheerfully. 

There followed a pause while Bobby stood before 
his little oil-stove. “Did you want to see me?” 
he asked gruffly. 

“More than that,” said Harry; “I want to be 
friends with you.” 

“ I’ve got friends enough.” 

“Well, I haven’t — not here,” Harry said. 

“Barney — and the rest of that Canal bunch,” 
suggested Bobby, sarcastically. 

“ Guess Mr. Barney has no time to bother with 
me,” Harry laughed. 

“ Thought you and he were side-partners.” 


226 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ No — I used to help him sling dirt, that’s all.” 

“ Huh,” sneered Bobby. 

“ Mike and I are pretty good friends,” said 
Harry, ignoring Bobby’s rudeness ; “ it reminds me 
of old times every time I look at him; he’s just the 
same as he used to be. It used to be his citizenship 
papers he’d be waving in our faces; now it’s his 
C.S. certificate.” 

“ There’s many a good man been knocked sense- 
less by a C.S. certificate.” 

Harry did not quite understand this, and he 
looked at Bobby, puzzled. Also for the first time, 
Bobby took a good look at Harry, and he was dis- 
gruntled to find nothing in the new boy’s appearance 
to justify his dislike of him. He noticed the big 
bronze coin which hung on the gold chain that dis- 
appeared in the pocket of his khaki shirt. Harry’s 
sleeves were rolled up and displayed two brown 
arms. There was no suggestion of prig about him. 
Moreover, Bobby realized that Harry was more at 
ease than he was himself. Now that they were 
face to face and he saw this strange boy to speak 
to, he had an uncomfortable feeling of Harry’s 
being on the right side and of himself being on the 
wrong side; for there was no good explanation to 
sustain his prejudice. He knew the bronze coin 
for one of the Panama award medals, given for 
two years’ faithful service on the Isthmus. He 
knew that it bcp*e the words, “ Presented by the 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


227 


President of the United States,” and yet the fellow 
who had won this medal turned the matter off by 
saying that he had helped Mr. Barney sling dirt. 
In short, Harry did not fit into the role which 
Bobby had given him at all. More than this, he 
seemed to have a uniform cheerfulness and frank- 
ness about him which contrasted rather favorably 
with Wesley’s tendency to moods. 

“ Look here, Cullen,” said Harry, “ what’s the 
matter? Why can’t we be friends? There’s no 
trouble with you, that’s sure — ” 

“ Oh, I have troubles all right,” said Bobby. 

Harry hesitated and looked at him curiously. 
“ I meant the fault isn’t with you. You’re popular, 
everybody likes you. I hear about you all over, 
down at headquarters — Mr. Barney, the captain, 
everybody. It’s ‘ Bobby Cullen ’ wherever I go. 
Walters says you make friends wherever you go; 
so the trouble must be with me. I don’t ask to be 
chums with you, but just friends enough to — to 
speak and be pleasant. And if there’s anything to 
prevent I want to know it. I can’t for the life of 
me think what it can be. I’ve heard that fellow — 
Query, is it ? — that used to be up on the hill bunked 
down here with you and I’ve tried to dope out 
something from that, but I can’t seem to fit things 
together. So I thought I’d come right to head- 
quarters. Of course, you don’t have to be friends 
with me if you don’t want to, but if it’s going to 


228 BOY SCOUTS 

go on like this I think Fm entitled to know why; 
don’t you? ” 

“ Suppose so,” Bobby conceded. 

“ When I first heard about you,” Harry went on, 
“ I thought you’d be just the one to ring in on a 
little scheme of mine. You know I’m mixed up 
with the Boy Scouts at home and I’ve got the de- 
tective bee. We’re all daft on ‘ deduction,’ you 
know; General Baden Powell got us started. — 
Well, right down here at the Forks is an old Lewis 
and Clarke camp; of course, you know that — ” 

“ No, I didn’t,” admitted Bobby. 

“ Well, there is, Bo — Do you know, I was 
just going to call you Bobby! Narrow escape, 
hey?” 

Bobby said nothing, but smiled slightly in spite 
of himself. 

“ Everybody seems to,” said Harry. “ Well, 
there’s an old cache in the earth somewhere down 
there, full of all sorts of gingoes, and I had a notion 
of trying to find it. They couldn’t find it them- 
selves on the way back. Ever read anything about 
Lewis and Clarke?” 

“ Not much.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be a stunt to find that cache? 
There were some sunflower seeds in it, and I 
thought they might have got tired of lying there 
and come up. I understand you surveyors find old 
beaver mounds on dried up territory down there. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


229 

We might stumble on it that way, too, hey? 4 Aim 
at the goose and hit the gander.’ ” 

The time came when Bobby remembered that 
expression “We may aim at the goose and hit the 
gander .” He had to admit that Harry was rather 
refreshing. The candor with which he spoke of 
the restraint between them, his readiness to sweep 
it all away in good comradeship, took Bobby at a 
disadvantage. 

Here was a fellow who had won a medal at 
Panama, who was as closely in touch with Mr. 
Barney as he, Bobby, was with the captain, who 
had quietly taken the position which he had been 
given and had done his work unostentatiously and 
in the face of slight and rudeness, who was appar- 
ently utterly without conceit or arrogance, and who 
had withal a touch of romance which sent him off 
on the most cock-a-hoop quests with a gusto which 
was delightful. Here he was whom Bobby had 
snubbed, perched with his knees up on Bobby’s 
couch, inviting him to go in search of buried treas- 
ure! 

“ I couldn’t do it alone, you know,” said Harry ; 
“ there’ d have to be two — Lewis and Clarke.” 

“ ’Fraid there isn’t much chance,” said Bobby. 

“ You never can tell, Bo — There I go again! ” 

“ Guess it wouldn’t kill me,” said Bobby. 

“ You never can tell. Down in Pan I had a 
parrot — got him yet — he has a name so long you 


230 


BOY SCOUTS 


have to wind it up on a spool — and he gave me a 
lot of gibberish about bags of gold, and a whole 
bunch of us went down the Isthmus a ways and 
rooted out fifty pounds of gold dust — and a skele- 
ton/’ 

“ What ? ” said Bobby, incredulously. 

“ Sure as you live — ask Mike. My parrot 
boarded with Mike while I was gone. — You 
couldn’t buy that parrot ; Andrew Carnegie couldn’t 
buy him.” 

“ I thought things like that only happened in 
books.” 

“ You ought to have known my friend, Mr. 
Conne — motion-picture man. He was * filming 
up ’ the Isthmus, as he called it ; and I tell you 
what, Bo-bby (there it goes, right out in meeting!) 
I tell you what, if you’re in for adventures you 
ought to have known him. You could dump that 
man off Mount McKinley and he’d land right side 
up, with care.” 

Bobby laughed. “ You seem to have your share 
of adventures,” he said. 

“ Well, we’re friends, then?” said Harry. 

“ Guess there’s no other way to fix it,” said 
Bobby, with rather an ill grace. “ Have — have 
you had your supper?” he asked, after a pause. 

“ No, go ahead and eat,” said Harry. “ I’ll just 
sit here.” 

“ There’s one thing I’d like to say,” said Bobby, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


231 


hesitatingly. “ You spoke of that fellow who 
bunked here. He was my friend — and he is yet. 
Even if I should never see him again, he’s my 
friend.” 

“ Yes? ” said Harry. 

“ He never had any technical training ; he was 
what we call a pick-up, or Local Help. They have 
no standing with the government ; but he was a kind 
of a genius; you know, it isn’t always the colleges 
that make engineers — ” Bobby spoke in a low 
tone and very earnestly. “I — I don’t know just 
exactly how to tell you, but somehow we got to be 
very close friends. He was funny about some 
things. They called him ‘ Query ’ because he used 
to ask so many questions. You see, he had no 
training so — so he just watched and asked ques- 
tions. And all of a sudden, as you might say, he 
planned out East Hill. He saw the whole thing in 
his mind and he went up there and made it as you 
see it. Captain Craig says he was a natural-born 
engineer — but he won’t be an engineer now. — He 
was funny about some things. Some said the name 
* Query ’ fitted him all kinds of ways ; but that was 
because — because he did things his own way.” 

“ I see,” said Harry, quietly. 

“ I don’t know why he went away, but I guess it 
was because he couldn’t stand for being thrown 
out. — He wouldn’t have been thrown out, though,” 
he added, more vehemently, “ because there’s a 


232 


BOY SCOUTS 


man down at headquarters who’d have prevented 
it ; and you’d have gone to work wherever he could 
have put you.” 

“Captain Craig?” 

“ Captain Craig,” said Bobby. 

“ He’d have been right,” said Harry. 

“ He’d have had his way,” said Bobby, somewhat 
vindictively. “ Barney couldn’t have helped you 
either.” 

“ I shouldn’t have asked him to,” said Harry. 

“ Well,” said Bobby, after a moment, “ I guess 
you’re not such a bad sort. But there’s a reason 
why I’m telling you this. I couldn’t look at you 
without thinking of that fellow limping away to 
make room for you. I heard you were rich.” 

“Limping?” Harry asked. 

“ Yes. When he went away from here he took 
a lame foot that will always be lame. Didn’t you 
hear about his looping a big rock on the mezzanine 
that would have crashed into Luke Merrick’s 
cabin ? Sometimes they called him ‘ Lame Query.’ ” 

It was hard for Bobby to come to his point and 
Harry waited with his big gray eyes fixed soberly 
on the speaker. 

“ Well, I don’t suppose you’re to blame, but I 
guess it’s the same with Easter as it is with me — 
more so, maybe, for I guess he liked her pretty 
well.” 

“You mean that Merrick girl?” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


233 


“ Yes. But this is what I wanted to say to you, 
and it will show whether you are really a good 
sort or not.” 

“ If you can find him, the job is his,” said Harry. 

“ It isn’t that ; I can’t find him. I guess we’ll 
never hear of him again. But in a day or two you 
may possibly hear suspicions cast against him — 
that money from this cabin was missing. It’s got 
to come out that it’s missing, because it’s associa- 
tion funds and I’ve got to account for it to-night. 
- — But this is what I want you to understand,” he 
went on, emphatically. “ He didn't take it. I 
know he didn’t. He never did a dishonest thing in 
his life! Do you understand that? I want you to 
say you won’t believe it — that you won’t pay any 
attention — ” He broke off and buried his face in 
his folded arms on the table. 

When he raised his head, Harry was still perched 
on the couch, watching him with sympathy in every 
line of his countenance. “You say you know he 
didn’t?” 

“And I repeat it!” said Bobby, defiantly. “It 
was taken out of the tin box in that drawer — 
twenty-two dollars.” 

“ The top drawer ? ” 

“ Yes, I never use the lower one except when I’m 
going away. It’s got our duffel bags and things 
in it.” 

Harry rose and walked over to the chest. The 


234 


BOY SCOUTS 


lower drawer bore two pull-handles, but one of the 
handles of the upper drawer had retired many years 
before. “ Mind if I look in?” he asked, as he 
carelessly took the two handles in his two hands 
and opened the drawer. Bobby looked in, a little 
puzzled. The once carefully packed contents were 
in disorder. 

“ You say you haven’t been to this drawer 
lately?” asked Harry. 

“ N-no ; not since the day we came to the Gulch 
last. Then I packed it.” 

Harry whistled thoughtfully. “ Looks as if 
you’re right then, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Money must have been taken by some one who 
didn’t know which' drawer it was kept in.” 

If Bobby had been notified of the inheritance of 
a fortune, he could not have been more overjoyed 
than at the utterance of this simple sentence. For 
away down in his heart he wanted, needed, some- 
thing practical to verify the belief that he was re- 
solved to maintain. He regarded this strange boy 
as a deliverer. What a mind he had ! How boyish 
and yet how observant and acute! How childishly 
enthusiastic and yet how sober and sympathetic he 
could be! 

“ I — I thank you,” Bobby said, weakly. 

“ Let’s see you open the other one,” Harry said. 

Bobby took hold of the single handle toward the 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


235 

end of the upper drawer and by a perceptibly diag- 
onal pull, hauled the drawer open. 

“ Shut it again. Now pull the handle straight 
just as if there were two. Doesn’t open, does it? 
Pull hard that way. She’ll split pieces off the end 
before she opens; see there? ” He held up a little 
piece which had chipped off the resisting end of 
the old soft wood drawer. 

“ There’s where another chip came off lately,” 
he said. He felt underneath the chest. “ And 
there’s the chip,” he added, triumphantly. “ Both 
you fellows knew enough to pull sideways where 
there was only one handle, didn’t you? Well, see 
here, where some one tried to jab a pen-knife in 
for another handle, and then yanked it out side- 
ways after all and chipped a piece off the end into 
the bargain; all because they didn’t know the little 
trick. Guess you’re right, my boy; a stranger’s 
been in here. — But that isn’t catching him, is it?” 

“ I don’t care anything about catching him ; what 
I care about is — ” 

“ I understand,” said Harry. " If I were you I 
wouldn’t give any one a chance to suspect your 
friend. Why don’t you just make it good? You 
know he didn’t take it, and I know he didn’t.” 

“ You mean it? ” 

“ Sure. It’s the little tiny facts that don’t lie,” 
said Harry. “ They’re good enough for me. And 
you don’t need even those,” he added ; “ you’ve got 
confidence in your friend.” 


236 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Yes, I have,” said Bobby, emphatically. 

“ The only thing that can smash confidence is a 
fact, and these two cute little facts happen to be on 
our side. Maybe, they’re not very big — but 
they’re on our side.” 

“ You say our side? ” 

“ Sure, I’m with you.” He resumed his infor- 
mal attitude on the couch. “ Confidence and two 
dinky little facts on one side ; nothing on the other 
side but a coincidence. I’m with you. — Have you 
got twenty-two dollars handy ? ” 

“ No — that’s the trouble — I haven’t.” 

“ Then it’s lucky I have — ” 

“ I wouldn’t be owing you — ” 

“ You’re not the only person here that’s got con- 
fidence,” said Harry. “ Give me a chance to show 
a little. There’s no way to spend money in this 
blamed old Gulch anyway. I’d give half a dollar 
for an ice cream soda. — Here, ten, fifteen, and 
five’s twenty and two is twenty-two. Take it — 
or the people will think / stole it. They saw me 
coming in here.” 

Bobby laughed, reluctantly taking the money. 
“ Till the ghost walks,” he said. 

“ Till the robins nest again, for all I care.” 

“ Will you let me look at that medal minute? ” 
Bobby asked. 

“ Sure. If it wasn’t for my friend, Carleton 
Conne, I wouldn’t have that. He took Uncle Sam 
by the whiskers and made him give it to me.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


237 


“ I guess you earned it all right/’ 

“ I guess I’ve got it all right,” Harry laughed, 
springing down to go. “ Well, good luck to you, 
Cullen, I’ll see you later; and I’m going to get you 
to square me with Miss — ” 

“ I’ll tend to that. Mike says you ought to have 
two medals.” 

“ Oh, sure, I ought to have my hat covered with 
them — like he has. You’re not such a fool as to 
swallow all Mike tells you ? ” 

“ It’s all right if it’s pre-digested,” laughed 
Bobby. “ By the way, wouldn’t you like to join 
the Minstrels? The head minstrel would be only 
too glad to have you.” 

“ Who is the head minstrel ? ” 

“ I am. That’s how I happen to know how he’d 
feel.” 

Harry was just in the doorway and about to go 
when he bethought him to ask, “ What was your 
friend’s real name?” 

“ His name was Binford — Wesley Binford,” 
said Bobby. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A DISCOVERY 

He never did a dishonest thing in his life. 

That was the sentence that stayed in Harry’s 
mind as he went away from Bobby’s cabin. That 
was the sentence, uttered with all Bobby’s confident 
assurance, that spoiled his happiness at his success 
with Bobby. And those two happy little facts 
about the drawer did not quite suffice to cheer him. 

So he was right after all. Wesley was not dead ; 
he had come here by some hook or crook and made 
a reputation for himself. The facts which he had 
deduced in Oakwood had proved Harry right and 
the mighty Blauvelt wrong. Wesley lived, and had 
been here ; had planned the work which he was now 
carrying on. In a way it was a triumph for Harry. 

But it was a triumph which depressed and trou- 
bled him. What was he to think? What could 
any one think? Harry had a clear, sensible mind, 
and he could not wholly avoid the natural infer- 
ence. 

When he had gotten over his first astonishment 
he thought over all that had happened from the 
very first. It seemed very ample and convincing; 

238 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


2 39 

it seemed to laugh at those two poor little deduced 
facts which had so relieved Bobby. 

Wesley had ruined his canoe, taken his money 
and disappeared. Oakwood believed him dead. 
But Harry had believed him to be living, for there 
was the black spot on the canoe and facts, be they 
little or big, as he had said, do not lie. He had 
depended upon those signs and they had not de- 
ceived him. Wesley lived; he was the “Lame 
Query ” of Long Gulch; but no word from him 
had ever come to Harry. 

What was he to think? 

Wesley had gone from Oakwood and money was 
missing. He had never offered restitution or ex- 
planation; and when he learned that Harry was 
coming to Long Gulch he had again disappeared, 
and more money was missing. 

What was he to think? 

Was Query indeed a genius? So it seemed; but 
a genius with a kink in his mind, a vein of weakness 
running in him; a bright diamond with a fatal 
flaw. 

He tried to beat down this thought, but it rose 
persistently in his mind, and the sum of all his 
thinking was a feeling of sympathy for poor, de- 
luded Bobby Cullen. 

And yet — 

The little facts would not quite down in his mind, 
either. Why should anybody hunt for money in 


240 


BOY SCOUTS 


a place where he knew it was not kept? Why 
should a person try to open a drawer in a way he 
knew it could not be easily opened? He might 
have been in a hurry; well, that would be all the 
more reason why he should save time by going to 
the right drawer and opening it in the usual way. 
The signs had borne him out once; he had trusted 
them in face of laughter and skepticism. . . . 

And yet — 

Oh, what was the use of thinking about it? If 
those little signs tended to save him from one sus- 
picion, they did not wipe out the other. There 
was something sordid about the whole business, first 
and last. Missing money, disappearance; disap- 
pearance, missing money. 

Harry was utterly sick with the conclusion that 
forced itself upon him. 

Wesley Binford was a — 

“ But Bobby Cullen shall not know,” he thought. 
u He shall have the memory of his lame Query, 
his engineering genius, his honest friend, to cherish 
forever. I’ll see to that.” 

The next morning he rose early with a headache, 
but with the reflection that through all this miser- 
able business he had won Bobby Cullen for a friend, 
and Bobby should have those two gratifying little 
bits of deduction to console him even if he must 
lay them by. By way of diverting his thoughts he 
wrote a letter to Marjorie Dan forth. He made 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


241 


no mention of Wesley, but just told her all about 
his life in the Gulch. But at the end, by way of 
postscript, something prompted him to say, “ I 
guess, Marje, you were right about Wesley Bin- 
ford. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to have any one 
defending him. I’ve been thinking it over, and 
Pve come to the conclusion that you’re right — as 
usual. So don’t say I didn’t give in.” 

On his way up to the hill he stopped to mail this 
letter in the Post Office cabin. As he was going 
out, “ Pop,” who among other things attended to 
the duties of postmaster, called after him and 
shoved a long envelope through the barred window. 
“ Ought’er been sent by freight,” he observed good- 
naturedly. 

“ I should think so,” laughed Harry ; “ guess it’s 
my grand piano.” 

Outside he opened it. It enclosed two sealed 
envelopes, a loose piece of smudgily printed paper 
about the size of an ordinary blotting sheet, and a 
folded sheet of note paper in his sister’s handwrit- 
ing, which said : 

Dear Harry: — 

I’ve been meaning to write, but we are so busy 
getting the house cleaned that it’s impossible to do 
anything. Mother says I simply must forward 
you these mysterious epistles that have been stand- 
ing on your bureau obscuring the photograph of — 
you know who. 


242 


BOY SCOUTS 


I didn’t dare to open them for fear of your 
wrath, but I’m eaten up with curiosity. Who in 
the world do you know in North Dakota? I’m 
going to write you a terrifically long letter soon. 

Winfield Parks (or Brick , I suppose I ought to 
call him — but I think it’s perfectly dreadful) — I 
see him every day down at the station, and yester- 
day Roy was there too. They were both on top of 
a freight car, hammering. Did you ever hear of 
such a thing? There is something mysterious go- 
ing on. Mother says she hopes you won’t join a 
ranch and stay out West. Isn’t mother too killing? 
Father’s rheumatism is better. Gordon wants me 
to send you this extraordinary paper and says to 
please send a dollar! Isn’t he excruciating? 

Lots of love, in dreadful haste, 

Margaret. 

The “ extraordinary paper ” was a typical speci- 
men of the exquisite art printing done on the fa- 
mous G. Lord Hand Press, which printed all the 
Oakwood Scout literature. The lines ran up and 
down, undulating like a wavy sea, carefully avoid- 
ing the horizontal. Sometimes the spaces were 
between the words and sometimes they were in the 
middle of the words. Sometimes a word strayed 
out of the procession altogether like some lagging 
urchin in a Sunday School parade. The large 
type of the display sentences had been reinforced 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


243 


with tiny letters here and there which crouched 
timidly between their huge, bold-faced companions. 
But if there was a deficiency of display type, there 
was a generous superabundance of ink. The doc- 
ument was not only a delight to the eye, but had 
apparently a value, for it read: 


This certifies that Harry Arnold is the owner of One Share 
of Preferred Stock in the 

BUSY BEAVERS AMALGAMATED, CONSOLIDATED 
WESTWARD-HO SYNDICATE 

Transferable only on the books of the Syndicate by the holder 
hereof in person or by attorney, upon surrender of this Cer- 
tificate, properly endorsed. 

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the said Syndicate has caused 
this Certificate to be signed by its duly authorized officers, 
and to be sealed with the seal of the Syndicate. 

PRICE, ONE DOLLAR. 

The left-hand corner of the paper bore a large 
red seal, and it was signed by G. Lord and two 
other members of the Oakwood Scouts. Harry 
chuckled, as he frequently did when he heard from 
Gordon. He had not the slightest idea what the 
paper meant, but he would assuredly send the dol- 
lar. Without a doubt, there would be some inter- 
esting developments. 

The first envelope which he opened was soiled 
and stiff, and had evidently been saturated with 


244 


BOY SCOUTS 


muddy water. It contained Wesley's long letter, 
and Harry read the self-lashings of the awakened 
conscience which would have no mercy on itself. 
Every crude sentence stamped it as sincere. He 
read it twice and it affected him deeply. It showed 
him the real Wesley Bin ford. Then he opened 
the other one, and there was the real Wesley Bin- 
ford too; the same careless, improvident, rash 
Wesley Binford whom he had known; for he had 
enclosed two twenty-dollar bills and one ten in an 
unregistered envelope and mailed it with charac- 
teristic disregard of the risk. 

It was not for a little while that it dawned upon 
Harry why Wesley had thrown down his work 
and left the Gulch. Then he knew what Wesley 
had been capable of and he saw him for what he 
really was. 

Oh, if he could only have recalled that letter to 
Marjorie! How quickly he would have changed 
the postscript ! For again his conviction was right. 
But he would write again, and tell her all about it 
and at the end he would add another postscript 
which should simply quote his own words to her, 
How about that fellow , the martyr ? 

The next evening, which was Saturday, Harry 
dropped in at Bobby’s cabin. He was in a par- 
ticularly gay mood; to be sure, his knowledge of 
the sacrifice which Wesley had made for him did 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


245 


not tend to make him comfortable in his new posi- 
tion, and all day long the boy who had gone away 
had haunted him accusingly as he did his work. 
He felt that he was the murderer of Wesley’s 
prospects and opportunity. But at least he saw 
Wesley in his true light, and the little facts which 
do not lie had borne him out again. 

“ Hello, Robertus,” he called. “ I’ve come to 
supper ; is it all right ? ” 

It was all right. 

“ Do you know, I’ve been thinking more about 
that friend of yours, and I think it’s up to you 
and me to find him. The more I think of it the 
more certain I am that a tramp’s been in here. — 
Everything all right about the funds ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, and that twenty — ” 

“ Forget it, I’ve got fifty here so don’t worry. 
Why, man, I’m rich — I’m buying stock ! Look 
at that!” 

“ What in the world is it? ” 

“ Westward Ho Amalgamated Syndicate Stock.” 
“ What’s that?” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea — cost me one bean. 
I may get a thousand in another year — and then 
again, I may not. I bet I get a hundred per cent, 
dividends in fun, anyway. That was issued by a 
kid friend of mine, and he’s got as many schemes 
in his head as any Wall Street man you ever saw. 
Maybe you’ll see him some day. Well, now, 


246 


BOY SCOUTS 


Robertus, to-morrow is Sunday and that's my day 
for a long walk. ‘ Commune with Nature,’ as 
What’s-his-name says. Are you in on it? I’m 
going after that cache.” 

Bobby laughed. “ I suppose you’ve deduced just 
where it is by now. You’re a wonder,” he added, 
with genuine admiration. The chest of drawers 
had made a reputation for Harry in the mind of 
Bobby. 

“ Why, no, I won’t bother with that till I get 
there — just kindergarten work, you know. — You 
want to boil your water before you put your coffee 
in, old man — scout fashion. Do you ever cook 
rice? Now, you wouldn’t suppose that just from 
seeing the second finger of your left hand I can 
tell that you saved that friend of yours from drown- 
ing — way over east somewhere.” 

Bobby dropped a plate on the floor and stared. 

“ Just roll up your sleeve a little,” said Harry, 
pleased at the success of his somewhat random shot. 
“Sure enough, just as I thought — he was in a 
row-boat — or maybe a canoe.” 

These facts had never been mentioned or even 
known in the Gulch and Bobby continued to stare 
like an idiot. “ It’s good you didn’t live a couple 
of hundred years ago,” he said; “you’d have been 
hung for witchcraft. How in the — ” 

“ Never mind that — turn that meat over. Are 
you going after that cache or not? You can be 
Lewis or Clarke, whichever you like.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


247 


“ Which of them was cleverer ? ” 

"Well, that’s hard saying; I kind of think 
Clarke.” 

“ I’ll be Lewis,” said Bobby. 

The next morning “ Lewis ” and “ Clarke ” 
started to follow Marias River down to its conflu- 
ence with the great Missouri. They picked their 
way gingerly along the dizzy, precipitous banks 
where Captain Lewis had actually led his little ex- 
ploring party in hope of determining whether this 
was in fact the true Missouri. 

“ By rights, you ought to tumble off a ledge 
somewhere along here,” said Harry; “ and if my 
guide, philosopher and friend, G. Lord, was here 
he’d make you do it. He believes in following 
facts.” 

“ I’d like to see that kid,” said Bobby. 

They made their way through a rough, treeless 
country and at last, looking back, the only vestige 
of the work of man which they could see was a 
white speck which they knew to be the dam. No 
houses were there, nothing but the vast, endless 
country with the river flowing and tumbling and 
roaring and breaking into spray over the rocks in 
its deep rugged channel. Here, at least, it could 
not have changed much since the days of the in- 
trepid Lewis and Clarke, and it was not hard for 
the boys to fancy themselves the original explorers. 


248 


BOY SCOUTS 


Bobby had been to the Forks many times, but never 
along this historic route; and now the pair became 
as intimate and friendly as Lewis and Clarke them- 
selves, which is saying a good deal. 

After a walk of two hours or more they came 
to the historic spot where the two rivers united and 
where the famous exploring expedition had paused 
to camp. 

As they stood there in a grove of trees which 
grew upon the neck of land formed by the junction 
of the two streams, Harry, who had read those 
fascinating volumes through, let his fancy wander 
back to that bygone time, and to the adventurous 
band which had made its way over that vast, un- 
known land, through strange and hostile tribes, 
following the windings of that mighty river whose 
distant trickling source lay somewhere among those 
frowning mountains to the west. No echo from 
any shrieking locomotives had reverberated from 
those mountains then. No dam was there; no irri- 
gated lands ; no Montana even. 

Lewis and Clarke, in their coonskin caps and 
buckskin suits, had paused here and tried to decide 
which stream would lead them through the moun- 
tains. Before them rose the forbidding Rockies 
with their unknown fastnesses, and beyond these 
somewhere the head-waters of the great Columbia 
which should guide them to the Pacific. Behind 
them stretched that river along which they had 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


249 


journeyed for so long, from the little outpost vil- 
lage of St. Louis, more than a thousand miles away. 
They had come, as they wrote in their journal, 
“ from the United States,” and when they had seen 
the waters of the Pacific, they were going back to 
the United States! And they did go back to the 
United States. They did their errand for Presi- 
dent Jefferson and crossed the continent; crossed 
desert, mountain and prairie; made friends with 
savages instead of conquering them; and returned 
home to tell Uncle Sam of the vast, strange terri- 
tory which he had acquired, and to report not a 
single disaster. 

“ They were a bully pair, those two,” said Harry. 
“ I’d loan you the books only I sent them to that 
friend of mine. I thought the adventures would 
get him.” 

“ That’s all right,” Bobby said. 

“ When you stop to think of it a minute,” Harry 
commented, “ it was about as big a thing as Colum- 
bus tackled.” 

Bobby sat down on a large stone and Harry on 
another close by; for a moment neither spoke. 

“ Do you notice, Bobby, that these four stones 
form a sort of oblong?” There were two other 
stones about eight feet from where they sat. 

“ Don’t tell me the cache is underneath this 
stone,” said Bobby. “ Break it gently, for good- 
ness’ sake ; am I sitting on it ? ” 


250 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ No,” said Harry, “ but if you drew a line to 
connect these four stones, you’d have a rectangle.” 

“ Guess you’re right,” said Bobby, glancing at 
the stones. 

“ Dare say a boat was hauled up here, hey ? ” 

Bobby stared, and then laughed. 

“ Let’s see if we can find any punk along in 
here.” Harry got down on his knees and carefully 
parting the grass as he crawled along, explored a 
line which would have run lengthwise through his 
fancied rectangle. At every few inches he trium- 
phantly lifted some small piece of wood in the last 
stages of rot. Some were hardly an inch long, 
others several inches, and most of them crumbled 
to mere powder at the pressure of his fingers. “ I 
believe,” he said, “ that they hauled that old keel- 
boat of theirs ashore here and ran her keel on to a 
plank to keep the dampness from the ground get- 
ting into it. That would show they expected to 
stay here some time, wouldn’t it ? And they did. — 
And they wedged these four rocks against her hull 
to block her up.” 

“ You are the limit! ” said Bobby. 

“ But what gets me,” said Harry, “ is that there 
isn’t any of this rotten stuff in the middle.” 

“ All rotted away,” said Bobby, kneeling with 
increasing interest. 

“ But there ought to be some here. I found 
it all the way from the end to about — Jump- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


251 

in g bull-frogs ! ” he shouted. “ The plot grows 
thicker ! ” 

“What?” said Bobby, astonished. 

For a minute Harry was too engrossed to an- 
swer. “ Bobby, run your hand over the earth 
here, just as if you were feeling a bump on — ” 

“ It is a bump — isn’t it? ” said Bobby. 

They moved their hands gently over the grassy 
earth which lay midway of the four stones. There 
was certainly a hubble there, and it was symmet- 
rical. 

“ I don’t see any sunflowers around,” suggested 
Bobby. 

“ Hang the sunflowers ! ” said Harry, his hand 
moving with increasing assurance over the spot. 
“ The Smithsonian Institute will be throwing roses 
and violets at us! What do we want with sun- 
flowers ? ” 

Harry had brought his scout belt-ax with him 
and he began excitedly hacking away the earth 
around this hubbly spot. 

“ Wait a minute,” said Bobby, and pressing his 
fingers into the earth he pulled up an irregular bit 
of sward about eight or ten inches square, grass 
and all, from which the fresh earth dripped and 
the grass roots were perceptible on its under side. 
“ Looks like a sod, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ Do you mean to say a sod could be here a 
hundred years and not take root ? The grass, roots 


252 


BOY SCOUTS 


and all, just peels up like skin off an orange. 
That’s because the earth is damp on account of the 
river.” 

Bobby screwed up his mouth incredulously. 
“ Looks like a made sod to me,” he said, half apol- 
ogetically. 

But the particular character of that earthy slab 
was of no importance, with all sorts of imagined 
possibilities lying beneath it, and it was not long 
before a hole two or three feet deep had been ex- 
cavated, and Harry paused, thrilled and excited, 
as the stroke of his ax caused a dull, metallic 
clang. 

“ Hit a rock ? ” 

“You call that a rock?” shouted Harry, de- 
lightedly pressing away enough earth to display a 
few inches of zinc surface. “ Bobby, as sure as 
we kneel here we’ve found the lost cache! Help 
me lift this box out.” 

What followed I must record briefly, for there 
are other matters, and it would be superfluous to 
set down the excited exclamations, the disjointed 
sounds of exultation which Harry uttered as he 
and the astonished Bobby unearthed a large zinc 
chest and with the leverage of the ax unceremoni- 
ously broke it open. As Bobby very pertinently 
observed, large zinc chests do not grow in the earth 
of their own accord, and as Harry very truly ex- 
plained, sunflowers, though hardy and persistent, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


253 


do not grow up through zinc boxes. And when a 
zinc box is found buried in the earth beneath where 
a boat has evidently stood, and when the rotten 
remnants of a plank show that all this happened 
many years ago, and when the size and position of 
the stones show that it was a good-sized keel-boat — 
Why, what conclusion was there but one? 

“ But what puzzles me,” said Bobby, “ is why 
they couldn’t find it on their way back ? ” 

“ Don’t let that worry you,” said Harry. 

“ But it’s a fact,” said Bobby, “ and you said 
yourself facts — ” 

“Facts?” Harry shouted, banging the big box; 
“isn’t that fact enough for you? If that isn’t a 
fact I’d like to know what is? ” 

“And we just stumbled on it!” said Bobby. 

“ Talk about facts ! ” Harry exclaimed. 

“ Well, you know,” said Bobby, half in apology 
and half in self-defense; “you said little facts — ” 
“ Well, here’s a big one — big enough to make 
the Smithsonian Institute sit up and take notice.” 

The truth was that Bobby, encouraged to quick 
observation by his new friend, was not quite able 
to forget the readiness with which that sod of earth 
had come up; but he was completely squelched by 
Harry’s enthusiasm and elation, and he was glad 
enough to believe in their sensational discovery. 

“If you can beat that with facts,” said Harry, 
“ you’ll be a wonder ! ” 


254 


BOY SCOUTS 


And sure enough, no one could deny that the 
big zinc case and its contents were visible, irrefut- 
able facts. 

» I shall conclude the description of this amazing 
discovery with an accurate record of what they 
found inside the box. 

One old Indian tomahawk. 

Two well-worn pairs of beaded Indian mocca- 
sins. 

Two complete buckskin outfits and fur caps. 

Indian headgear with feathers. 

A very old and dilapidated copy of Robinson 
Crusoe. 

Two rusty rifles and one in better condition. 

Several buffalo horns. 

Bows and arrows and an old quiver. 

An Indian tom-tom. 

Canvas tent, much rotted, with many holes. 

A tripod (old-fashioned surveyor’s type, Bobby 
thought). 

A rusty, cylindrical thing with a crank handle, 
which looked like a peanut-roaster. 

Several pictures, evidently torn from an old 
book, of men in buckskin. 

Two large cans of very fine powder, which Harry 
thought might be gunpowder. 

A folded and ragged American flag. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 255 

A small can of seeds, but none of the familiar 
sunflower seeds which Harry knew. 

A piece of canvas hose about three feet long. 

The thing which interested the boys most was the 
rusty, cylindrical thing with the crank handle, 
which looked like a peanut-roaster. 


CHAPTER XX 


WESLEY FALLS INTO THE HANDS OF SCOUNDRELS 

When Wesley Binford found himself in the for- 
est that night of his departure from the Gulch, he 
thought it would be easy to find his way to the 
nearest town. 

So it might have been if he had gone by day, but 
as the darkness fell, the trail became less tangible, 
and Wesley did what the tenderfoot is almost cer- 
tain to do ; he verged from it along a fancied path 
and was soon lost; for it is a curious thing about 
a fancied path that you cannot follow it back to the 
real trail. It has no reality usually, and is formed 
of some dim light or vague shadow which becomes 
invisible directly one turns about. 

Finally with a feeling of abject terror, he lay 
down to await the morning, his foot paining in- 
tensely. 

In the morning he arose refreshed and cheerful. 
It seemed as if he and the woods had got ac- 
quainted, as if they understood each other at last 
and would have no further differences. 

He started out intent on regaining the trail, but 
paused and listened doubtfully as the sound of dis- 
256 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


257 


tant voices reached his ear. He had supposed that 
these solemn dim aisles were never frequented, but 
now he saw a distant figure, speaking to some one 
else who was not visible. The speaker was very 
disreputable in appearance and as Wesley looked 
from behind a tree, his desire to approach uncere- 
moniously diminished perceptibly, and he decided 
to look before he leaped. 

The figure was evidently that of a young man. 
He wore a dirty white sweater, a little peaked cap, 
and there was an aspect of toughness about him. 
Then another similarly disreputable figure emerged 
and the two appeared to speak together, glancing 
furtively off at intervals as if to assure themselves 
that no one was near. One of them adjusted his 
hand above his eyes in quite the dramatic fashion 
of a true villain and appeared to scrutinize the im- 
mediate vicinity where Wesley stood concealed. 
It seemed to him incredible that under such careful 
scrutiny he was not discovered; but the pair ap- 
peared to be reassured and then one reached in. his 
pocket and handed the other something, part of 
which dropped to the ground. One stooped, with 
a very guilty, hasty air, to pick up the fallen arti- 
cles, while the other scanned the neighborhood ap- 
prehensively, hand above his eyes. 

It was perfectly evident to Wesley that whatever 
was afoot was of a villainous nature. Presently 
one of the two appeared to be expostulating with 


2 5 8 


BOY SCOUTS 


the other who extended his open palm and turned 
his head away as if beseeching him to desist. 
Then, suddenly, a third figure appeared upon the 
scene. He wore regular civilian clothes and car- 
ried a coat over his arm. He stepped back, appar- 
ently in surprise, at their argument, then came 
briskly forward, producing from his pocket a roll 
of currency almost as large in circumference as a 
tomato can, which staggered poor Wesley. He 
wetted his finger and proceeded to peel from this 
generous roll a dozen or two bills, which he liber- 
ally offered to the young man in the white sweater. 
This magnanimous offer seemed to reassure the 
young man, and he hesitated, then thrust his open 
hand toward the new-comer as if to renounce 
temptation. Wesley hoped that this good resolu- 
tion at the last minute would prove unassailable, 
but the new-comer, who was evidently the chief 
scoundrel and fabulously rich, again produced his 
gigantic roll and with startling prodigality peeled 
off about twenty or thirty more bills and tendered 
them to his weakening accomplice. 

This was too much for the accomplice. He put 
his hand to his head, looked upon the ground with 
an expression of agony, as if trying still to beat 
down temptation. Again the tempter peeled off a 
dozen or two more bills from his inexhaustible 
roll, and this was a knock-out blow to the poor 
accomplice’s tottering resolution. He scanned the 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


259 


neighborhood, hand above his eyes, then wheeled 
about and accepted the money. It was a sad illus- 
tration of the evil power of money over a weak 
nature. Wesley felt that the man with the roll 
was an unmitigated scoundrel. 

Now all three crept stealthily away and Wesley 
cautiously advanced to the spot where they had 
stood. The treasure which one had dropped and 
picked up with such apparent fear and care, seemed 
hardly worth the trouble of stooping, nor had it 
been picked up carefully either, for there, still scat- 
tered upon the ground, were a number of wooden 
toothpicks. 

He could still see the mysterious strangers and 
presently a little light was thrown upon their law- 
less enterprise, as one stooped and gathered some 
dried leaves about a good-sized tree. He then 
handed what seemed to be more toothpicks to the 
other young fellow, who disappeared. Wesley 
thought now that the toothpicks had been spilled in 
a pocket exploration for matches. The chief 
scoundrel stood calmly by, his head cocked side- 
ways, his hands in his pockets, while his young 
companion stooped and appeared to strike a match 
and then thrust it among the dried leaves. It 
seemed to Wesley that if the leaves were not suffi- 
cient to start a good blaze the magnanimous villain 
might throw on two or three hundred bills to help 
things along. 


26 o 


BOY SCOUTS 


Before there was any sign of blaze both departed 
in the direction the third fellow had taken and 
presently from that locality there rose a dense 
smoke among the trees. 

Wesley had now no doubts as to what all this 
meant. They were setting fire to the National 
Forest. He had heard talk in the Gulch of rich 
mill-owners doing such things in retaliation for fan- 
cied grievances or to get timber cheaply, and he had 
no doubt that the man with the roll was a rich mill 
owner. 

The boy’s fear and surprise now vanished and 
he had but one thought — to prevent this act 
of incredible villainy. Limping forward, he was 
about to stamp out the incipient blaze, when he no- 
ticed that the leaves had not caught fire. There 
were several toothpicks lying about. Assuring 
himself that there was no danger here, he hurried 
toward the spot where the dense smoke was rising, 
but stopped short in astonishment at the sight 
which he beheld. 

There was the chief villain, the rich mill-owner, 
sitting on a little camp stool, patiently turning the 
crank of an instrument which stood on another 
camp stool. It consisted of a good-sized cylinder 
which lay horizontally and slowly revolved as the 
man turned the crank. At the other end a hose 
seemed to enter just where the axle must have been, 
so that the revolutions did not interfere with the 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


261 

hose, and at the other end of the hose the young 
man in the white sweater, with cheeks bulging, was 
blowing lustily. As the cylinder revolved, only its 
upper surface was exposed and from this arose 
veritable clouds of smoke which spread in the air 
above; but no vestige of a blaze could be seen any- 
where. 

“ How d’do,” said the chief scoundrel, in a com- 
fortable, familiar way, as if there were nothing at 
all surprising or unusual about Wesley’s appear- 
ance there. “ Nice day.” 

“ Y-yes,” stammered Wesley. 

Then he noticed a few yards distant the other 
young fellow standing behind a large polished oak 
box on a tripod, also turning a crank. 

“ You’re up early,” said the chief scoundrel, 
turning all the while. 

“I — I’m lost,” said Wesley. 

“ No ! ” said the man, amusedly. 

“ Guess I ought to know,” said Wesley. “ If a 
fellow can’t find his way, he’s lost, isn’t he?” 

The man appeared to consider this argument, 
cocking his head ruminatively on one side, as he 
turned the crank. “ Don’t know but what you’re 
right,” said he, presently. “ How ’bout that, 
Andy ? ” 

Andy removed the hose from his bulging cheeks 
to say that it seemed so to him. 

The man’s apparent disposition to be serious and 


262 


BOY SCOUTS 


reasonable over such an idiotic and trifling state- 
ment annoyed Wesley. Also he was surprised at 
the total lack of any astonishment on the stranger’s 
part at his unexpected appearance. 

In a few minutes the three ceased operations. 

“ Ever see a forest fire before? ” asked the man, 
rising. 

“ Not this kind,” said Wesley. 

“No? Well, you’ll see it on the films next 
year.” 

“Is it motion-pictures, you’re making? I’ve 
been watching you for half an hour.” 

“Yes? George, we were caught red-handed 
after all,” he added, to the young man who was 
folding the tripod. “ I’ll have to get you a field- 
glass to watch out with.” 

Wesley had a feeling that he was being pleas- 
antly jollied, but the easy and complacent famil- 
iarity with which the stranger had greeted him in 
this wild, out-of-the-way place, attracted him. 
They might have known each other for years, and 
this might have been a thronging thoroughfare for 
all evidence the man showed to the contrary. 
There was something about him which made Wes- 
ley feel perfectly at home and he had not been there 
five minutes before he was talking freely. The 
man was somewhat older than his two assistants 
who seemed not much older than Wesley himself, 
and there was an atmosphere of comradeship among 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 263 

them which the lost and friendless wanderer no- 
ticed wistfully. 

The “ chief scoundrel ” was slightly under the 
medium height and had a way of thrusting his 
hands into his pockets, cocking his head sideways 
and listening attentively; and Wesley was puzzled 
and a trifle uncomfortable at this for he was a sen- 
sitive boy and he could not be sure whether the 
man was interested in what he said or was just 
making fun of him by listening with exaggerated 
seriousness. The strange apparatus which had 
diffused that cloud of counterfeit smoke also in- 
terested Wesley. 

He had been to motion-picture shows enough, but 
the thought of how these counterfeit disasters were 
devised had never occurred to him, except once and 
that was on that thoughtful Sunday night which 
he had spent on Captain Brocker’s hospitable tug. 
Then he had wondered how a person could fall 
from a cliff a hundred feet high and not lose his 
life. He was not familiar with Gordon Lord’s 
laconic phrase of, “ There’s a way,” and I think it 
is a good illustration of the difference between Wes- 
ley and Harry Arnold that Wesley had frequented 
the “ movies ” without the least curiosity about the 
interesting and adventurous work of making the 
films, while Harry, who never bothered with 
the “ movies ” and would have been bored at merely 
sitting in an audience, had always been lured by 


264 BOY SCOUTS 

the adventurous end of the work, the hazardous and 
out-door part. 

“ Is that your name ? ” Wesley asked, pointing to 
a large black leather case, equipped with a shoulder- 
strap. On it was printed in white letters the name 
CARLETON CONNE, CHICAGO, U. S. A. 

“ My very own,” the man confessed with mock 
coyness. 

“ I think I read an article about you in a maga- 
zine, didn’t I ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know.” 

“ With pictures of how you starved to death on 
Mont Blanc in Switzerland ? ” 

“ That was the night we had the Swiss stew.” 

“ The night you starved to death ? ” laughed 
Wesley. 

“We starved to death before we had the stew,” 
the man explained. “ Andy, here, gives away 
photos to magazines; we can’t stop him — it’s a 
habit. — So you’re in the Lost and Found column, 
hey? George, why wouldn’t that be a good idea? 
* Lost in the Forest ’ ? ” 

“ Not enough action,” said George. 

“ Might put in a grizzly or two.” 

“ That ought to help the action,” ventured Wes- 
ley. 

“ Might work it right in with the forest fires, 
eh ? ” Mr. Conne suggested, in a complacent, busi- 
nesslike way. “ I’d have given a Canadian dime 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


265 


to have met him over in Death Valley, when we 
were paying two and a half an hour to real cow- 
boys.” 

“ I said from the first,” observed George, “ that 
a fifty-cent made-up cowboy would be cheaper, 
traveling expenses and all included.” 

“ I know, George, but it’s awful hard to get the 
swagger — that’s worth a dollar seventy-five.” 

“ Not much action in that sheep-ranch business, 
either, if you come to that,” argued Mr. Conne. 

“ I know,” said Andy, “ but we’ve got the sheep- 
shearer’s murder to help us out there.” 

“ I’m half a mind to cut out all that sheep and 
cattle business anyway,” said Mr. Conne, “ and use 
the airship murder down at the South Pole — just 
as Shackleton suggested. — Where’d you stray 
from? ” he asked, turning suddenly to Wesley. 

For a moment the boy did not answer. This 
delightful “ shop talk ” fascinated him, and he 
could hardly believe his eyes when he realized that 
here in this lonely forest he had actually stumbled 
upon the famous Carleton Conne who had “ ar- 
ranged ” the Zulu war in South Africa, and risked 
his life to “ film up ” Siberia and “ get ” the savage 
cannibal tribes along the unknown Amazon. 
Here he was, face to face with that adventurous, 
elusive creature who (according to the Illustrated 
Metropolis Magazine) was actually going to ac- 
company the next Antarctic Expedition; who knew 


266 


BOY SCOUTS 


Shackleton and Peary, and whose camera tripod 
had sunken into the venomous marshes of the Ever- 
glades, in the interest of the great, thriving busi- 
ness which he represented. And could these be 
Andy Breen and George Warren, whose pictures 
in Eskimo attire the Metropolis had published? 

“ I was working for the government/’ he said, 
when he found his voice, “ in Long Gulch — the 
water conservation business; it’s over — ” 

“ Yes, we were nosing around down there a 
month or so ago,” said Mr. Conne. “ In fact, 
we’ve got some truck stored down that way. We 
expect to blow that dam up next spring if all goes 
well, and I can get a permit from the government. 
I was in Washington about it a while ago. I’m 
trying to arrange for a good, big loss of life.” 

“ I suppose the blowing up will be something 
like the smoke of these forest fires,” laughed Wes- 
ley, “ and the toothpick matches.” 

“ Something like that,” said Mr. Conne, in a 
matter-of-fact way. 

“ Along the line of ocular delusion,” said Andy 
Breen ; “ use the smoke for a drop-curtain, you 
know.” 

Wesley didn’t know, but he was very much in- 
terested. 

“ Tell us about it,” said Mr. Conne. 

“ Oh, there isn’t much to tell,” said Wesley, sit- 
ting down on a camp stool. Mr. Conne thrust his 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


267 


hands far down into his trousers pockets, standing 
before Wesley and rocking his form backward and 
forward on his heels and toes, listening in a whim- 
sical though friendly way. He was easy to talk to. 

“ I had charge of some work there, but I wasn’t 
Civil Service, and then Uncle Sam sent word that 
some one was coming — a Civil Service fellow — 
to take my place — and I wouldn’t have liked be- 
ing thrown down — but more than that I wouldn’t 
have liked being kept either — because that fellow 
is entitled to the job — see? ” 

Mr. Conne, rocking back and forth all the while, 
cocked his head on one side, contemplating Wesley 
frankly as if to determine whether he was insane. 
Then he cocked his head on the other side and con- 
templated him with equal frankness as if to deter- 
mine whether he was sincere. “ Huh,” said he, 
“ what’d you want to do that for? ” 

“ Maybe it was a fool thing to do,” said Wesley, 
“ but I couldn’t help it. The job belonged to the 
other fellow, and I knew him — knew who he was, 
and — ” 

“ What are you going to do now ? ” 

“ I’m going to try to get out of here and find 
work somewhere.” 

“ Where?” 

“ Well, I don’t know, but I might — ” 

“ The nearest railroad station is eighteen miles.” 
Wesley was silent. 


268 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ What’s your name ? ” 

Wesley told him. 

“ Used to outdoor life? ” 

" Lately — yes.” 

“ Hmmm.” 

“I — I’d be glad to do anything.” 

“ How much the old gent give you ? ” 

“ Twenty-five dollars a month.” 

“ Getting extravagant in his old age.” 

There was a pause during which Mr. Conne 
rocked back and forth, his head sideways, and an 
unlighted cigar sticking almost upright from the 
extreme corner of his mouth. He made no con- 
cealment of the fact that he was sizing Wesley up. 
He looked at him as if he might be some inanimate 
thing which he contemplated buying. 

“ Well,” he finally said, “ suppose you take a 
jump with us, eh? You’re a good husky young- 
ster and not bad-looking. Anybody ever tell you 
that ? ” 

“ No — sir” 

“ We’ve been doing the Lewis and Clarke Expe- 
dition from Dakota out as far as the Forks, and 
I’ve been paying union wages to Indians and out- 
laws and cowboys till I’ve only got about a dollar 
and a half to take us from here to Honolulu. 
We’re going into Helena now to get a button sewed 
on, and then we’ll take a hop, skip and jump over 
the Rockies and finish up our last L. and C. reel 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


269 


with the party reaching the Pacific; you can be 
Lewis — the Lewis I used as far as the Forks 
wanted more money and I fired him. — Then at 
Seattle we have a date to go off on a wrecking 
steamer, maybe as far as Hawaii, and back to your 
Gulch here in the spring. From there we’ll prob- 
ably hop into Mexico if What’s-his-name down 
there keeps on being naughty, and work the Huerta 
business in with some old Aztec stuff that’s sim- 
mering in my head. Suppose — suppose,” he 
added with a comfortable and comforting air of 
friendliness, “ suppose I say we’ll give you twenty 
dollars a week, not counting ham sandwiches and 
things.” 

Wesley had thought he was going to say “ a 
month ” and he had intended to accept the propo- 
sition instantly, but when Mr. Conne said “ a week ” 
he simply stared. He felt that the motion-picture 
business would go into bankruptcy with such prod- 
igal recklessness. 

And not counting ham sandwiches and things ! 

He would receive that fabulous sum for the de- 
lightful privilege of accompanying the trio in their 
fascinating adventures ! 

And such a programme ! 

He would have no call upon his princely income. 
By next spring he would have over five hundred 
dollars ! 

“ Is it a go? ” asked Mr. Conne, pleasantly. 

“ Do I look like a fool? ” said Wesley. 


CHAPTER XXI 


TWO LETTERS 

The adventures which filled those months Wes- 
ley spent with his new friends are not a part of 
this story. Yet they form a story, if ever a series 
of adventures did. 

The extraordinary episode with its miraculous 
consequences in which the party was concerned at 
the remote cable station on Midway Island, and 
their discovery of the scuttled schooner, Sally Y, 
not only formed exceptional material for the films, 
but constituted a chain of phenomenal happenings 
which had not been anticipated, and which brought 
Mr. Conne as near to death as he had ever been in 
his reckless and adventurous career. 

The time they spent on the wrecking steamer and 
the affair of the Sasimo divers would alone form 
a very tolerable story (as stories go in these days), 
but it is my hope to crowd all these matters into a 
single narrative, if I can ever get hold of Wesley 
to enlighten me a little further as to whether the 
diver is actually the same as the one to be seen in 
the famous “ movie ” play of “ The Pearl Robbers,” 
which is one of the results of that strange cruise. 

270 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


271 


But Wesley is so absorbed in his engineering 
work these days that he only laughs and says, “ For- 
get it,” when asked about that remarkable passage 
in his life. 

You may well suppose that the incredible dis- 
covery of the lost cache furnished a sensation to 
Long Gulch, and Harry regretted that he had sent 
the Lewis and Clarke books to Gordon and so was 
unable to check off the contents of the box with 
the articles enumerated in the published Journal. 
If he had only known it, there was no use in send- 
ing them anyway for Gordon was so much en- 
grossed with certain epoch-making matters that he 
never even looked at them. 

If there was a sensation for the Gulch, there was 
also a smaller but gratifying sensation for the boys 
when word came from Bismarck, North Dakota, of 
the arrest of a pickpocket there, who had in his 
possession several unused Government envelopes 
with “ Reclamation Service ” printed on them and 
a railroad mileage book, containing the name of 
E. C. Bronson, Long Gulch, Montana. Mr. Bron- 
son, who had in fact missed his mileage book, had 
not the time to go to Bismarck and identify the 
fellow, and if he was convicted at all (which seems 
likely) it must have been for his pickpocket opera- 
tions. So Bobby never received his money from 
the thief, but he made no complaint of that. He 


272 


BOY SCOUTS 


reimbursed Harry and was satisfied. Bobby was 
a good loser — when it wasn’t a case of losing a 
friend. 

Best of all, Harry’s deductions were sufficiently 
confirmed and Wesley was cleared beyond all 
shadow of doubt, if indeed he needed any more 
clearing. Harry had told Bobby of his previous 
acquaintance with Wesley, although he had said 
nothing about the incident of the canoe, and they 
talked a good deal about employing their deductive 
faculties (particularly Harry’s) to locate Wesley 
and bring him back to his beloved East Hill. 

Thus the summer matured until the shorter days 
and cooler evenings heralded the fall. 

One day Harry received two letters. One, as 
nearly as he could make out from the blurred post- 
mark, was from Honolulu. The envelope con- 
tained a two-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, and a five- 
cent stamp. Not a word of writing was there; but 
the amount of three dollars and five cents was fixed 
in his mind and he knew from whom the money 
came and what it was for. 

Wesley Binford and Harry Arnold were square! 

The second envelope which he opened also con- 
tained money — eleven cents. On an accompany- 
ing card were printed the words, “ Dividends of 
the Busy Beavers Amalgamated, Consolidated 
Westward-Ho Syndicate.” So Harry’s investment, 
though a mystery to him, was paying a dividend! 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


273 


“ I’d give a cruller to know what that is,” he 
chuckled, opening the third envelope. Its en- 
closure caused his chuckle to develop into a smile 
of frank pleasure, for it took him back to those 
two delightful years he had spent in Panama. 

Dear Harry : — 

I got your letter telling me about your going to 
Montana, and Pm sending this letter hoping it will 
reach you there. I was stationed with the Reclama- 
tion Service on the Colorado last winter and they’re 
all right and I’m glad you’re with them. In the 
Army we call them the wonder-workers and they 
deserve the name, all right. 

Well, Harry, I’m a long time answering that let- 
ter of yours and it seems as if we’d never get 
around to meeting again. Remember how down 
in Pan we were always planning for you to come 
out to Whitville and go fishing on the Mississippi? 
Well, Harry, I think I see a way to fix that now if 
you can take care of your end of it, and if I ever 
get you at my old Missouri home, believe me, 
Harry, I’ll duck that old head of yours in the river 
and hang you up on the levee to dry. So you know 
what you’re up against. 

Well, I’m stationed here at El Paso, Texas, and 
we’ve got our other eye squinted across the chalk- 
line, you can bet. I’m in barracks that would 
make the Panama barracks look like an Alabama 


BOY SCOUTS 


274 

coon’s chicken-coop. Harry, these greasy Mexi- 
cans can’t look you straight in the eye. They can’t 
even play quoits on the square. I’ve tried them. 
There’s going to be noise enough down this way 
inside of a year or two to wake the baby. We can 
see it coming. Well, if I don’t happen to be in 
the wrong end of the shooting-gallery between now 
and next spring, I’ll have my leave at that time — 
and it’s back to home and mother for little Jackie. 

Now, Harry, here comes the scheme, so look out. 
Why couldn’t you get your leave at the same time? 
Now, don’t say you don’t want any leave — I’ve 
heard that before. The trouble with you is your 
conscience makes you top-heavy. 

You brace Uncle Samuel for your leave next 
April — see? Chalk that up on the wall so you 
won’t forget it. And remember my address, Whit- 
ville, Mo., where the gentle Mississippi rolls. If 
you go east without coming down to Whitville 
while I’m there, I’ll know it’s because you’re getting 
so chesty that you’ve no use for your old Panama 
friends. Remember — next April. 

Your old soldier friend, 

Hon. Jack Holden. 

P. S. — How’s that parrot of yours? 

It was like a whiff of that far-off, tropical breeze 
which Harry had known away down there on the 
Isthmus to read this letter from the soldier boy 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


275 


whom he had known so intimately in the Zone. It 
was the same, slangy, bantering, devil-may-care 
Jack Holden. It was little thought Jack took of 
his life. Whatever may have been his faults he 
had the splendid recklessness of the true soldier. 
So he had been playing quoits with the “ greasy 
Mexicans” across the border! How very much 
like Jack that was! And if he was not at the 
wrong end of the shooting gallery (how lightly he 
spoke of that gruesome contingency) he would go 
home to his mother and sisters in the spring. 

Harry folded the letter, smiling thoughtfully, for 
through his pleasure at receiving it and all the 
pleasant memories which it recalled, there seemed 
to stalk a specter, called into being by that careless, 
characteristic phrase, “ if I don’t happen to be at 
the wrong end of the shooting gallery.” 

What did it mean, in plain English? That if he 
had not been shot he would have his leave and go 
home! 

The little sentence haunted him all that night; 
he saw Jack Holden, Jack, so slangy and reckless 
and affectionate; Jack, who stood so straight and 
walked with that careless swagger — shot down. 

It brought that horror of war very close. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE CYCLONE 

“ Wait a minute till I lock the safe.” 

Bobby and Harry were going to the last “ Min- 
strels,” for the long winter with its concrete-em- 
bankment work, was drawing to a close; the ice 
which had once been devastating wild water was 
melting; they had skated on it for the last time, 
and Uncle Sam’s community of Long Gulch was 
breaking up. 

It had been a city of a day. Soon the spring 
freshets would begin to pour into the great rugged 
valley which had been prepared for their reception 
and imprisonment, and on the site of this transitory 
cabin town would rise the government’s vast stor- 
age lake, a stupendous federal prison whose convict 
body should be made useful to irrigate the land and 
contribute its power, in times of need, to the pur- 
poses of navigation. 

“ It was a good job,” as Mr. Barney had said, 
and now the people of that busy camp would go 
their several ways in little squads, east and south and 
west, to work upon the rivers; and at last Harry 
was going to see the “ Old Lady.” 

276 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 277 

Bobby snapped an enormous padlock upon that 
once-rifled drawer and they started forth. He was 
not so regretful to leave the Gulch as Harry, for he 
had been jumping about the country too long to 
allow himself to acquire an attachment to any one 
place. 

“ It was the same in Phoenix, Arizona,” 1 he said, 
“ when we cleared out. There was weeping and 
wailing and gnashing of teeth; but you see we all 
meet again sometime or other. These big jobs are 
like family reunions.” 

Harry glanced at Bobby as that blase and much- 
traveled young man walked gayly at his side, and 
thought how this was Bobby’s whole life; to go 
wherever he was sent, following the erratic trail of 
that versatile and much-sought captain, his transit 
over his shoulder, cooking his own meals, on snow- 
capped mountains, in pestilent lowlands, in rugged 
valleys; always ready to leave at a minute’s notice, 
full of official gossip, cheerful, generous, original. 

“ After that little pick-pocket episode,” he ob- 
served, “ you can’t be too careful. As I came in to- 
night there was a queer-looking duffer sizing up 
the dam. I told the captain we ought to have it 
chained down. I keep my other eye on strangers 
these days, you can bet.” 

“ I saw the captain to-day, too,” said Harry. 

1 Where the great Roosevelt dam was erected for the im- 
pounding of wild water, one of the boldest engineering feats 
the government has ever undertaken. 


278 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ He says when we hit St. Louis I can take a jump 
into Washington (at the risk of being kept there for 
the rest of my life), and turn over all this Lewis 
and Clarke stuff to the Smithsonian Institute. Gee, 
won’t the papers be full of it? Maybe it’s leaked 
out and that fellow you saw to-night is a reporter, 
hey?” 

“ Do you know what they’ll do,” said Bobby, 
“ when you spring that on them ? They’ll steer you 
right into the Secret Service.” 

“ Not if I see them first — I’m Reclamation, now 
and forever ! ” 

“ What else the captain say ? ” 

“ Said when we get down as far as the Ohio I 
can have my leave, but he’d like me to do some in- 
spection farther down the Mississippi.” 

“ And you refused?” said Bobby. 

“ I did — not! That’ll give me a chance to visit 
that friend of mine in Missouri that I told you 
about.” 

There followed a pause. 

“ Do you know, Bobby, I was just thinking — 
They were talking in Headquarters — Mr. Barney 
and Bronson — about some trouble with the water- 
works people in Great Falls.” 

“ That’s an old story,” said Bobby. “ Wherever 
we start to do anything there are always private in- 
terests, screeching and hollering, ‘No fair!’ We 
stretch a tape line across a river and it’s ‘ obstructing 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


279 


navigation.’ I’d like to know who’s making navi- 
gation possible if it isn’t Mr. U. Samuel, Washing- 
ton, D.C. They make me sick!” 

“ But this is what I was thinking of, Bob ; the 
night I started from Washington, when I was half 
asleep in my berth I heard somebody say something 
about blowing up a dam with dynamite.” 

“What?” said Bobby, stopping short. 

“Of course, I may have been more than half 
asleep. I thought some one said something about a 
cache, too, but I guess I dreamed it, because I’d 
been talking that evening about the lost cache. 
Maybe I dreamed the dynamite business, too ; but a 
stitch in time saves nine — doesn’t it ? ” 

“ If the dam should be blown up,” said Bobby, 
“ the captain would be just too provoked for any- 
thing.” 

“ Well, you can laugh, but you don’t know who 
this stranger was, do you? He may have come 
from Great Falls. There couldn’t possibly be any 
harm in watching him, could there ? I say let’s cut 
out the Minstrels and hike down outside the dam 
and keep our eyes peeled.” 

Bobby hesitated. “ I don’t believe anybody 
would go as far as that,” he said. “ The water- 
works people don’t fight that way; they get men 
elected to Congress and send men there to hang out 
in the lobby. That’s their way.” 

“ Well,” retorted Harry, “ mightn’t it have been 


28 o 


BOY SCOUTS 


one of those same men who said that in the station 
at Washington? ” 

Bobby halted again and looked at him uncer- 
tainly. 

“ I was right about the cache, wasn’t I ? ” Harry 
urged. 

“ Yes, you were,” said Bobby, decidedly. “ Let’s 
go down outside the dam.” 

It was a good tramp to the “ funnel,” as they 
called the narrow end of the Gulch, and it was 
dark when they passed by the turbines. 

As was often the case, their conversation turned 
on Wesley. He was now a mere memory in the 
Gulch, yet there clustered about his name one or 
two traditions which kept the memory green and 
his sudden coming and going, his triumph on East 
Hill, though but an unknown, ill-paid local helper, 
his looping of the great rock, his youth, his limp 
and the nickname which had wholly eclipsed his 
own name; all this helped to make his brief career 
a sort of legend. Those who came after him heard 
of the lame Query who had come with the captain, 
no one knew whence (for the captain’s lips were 
sealed as to that) ; who had had an inspiration, car- 
ried it out, risked his life, and disappeared, no one 
knew where. The fact that he had gone just as 
his work was completed gave a touch of romance 
to his short career in the Gulch. Those who found 
satisfaction in slurring schools and colleges (and 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


281 

there are always such) would tell how this un- 
trained boy had come and gone and what he had 
done, and repeat that colleges do not make brains 
after all. 

There were two ways of going out of this end 
of the Gulch. One was through the spillway, past 
the turbines, but that way was closed now. It took 
you out into the deep gully in which the river 
flowed, and then you had to clamber up the pre- 
cipitous banks. For the river formed, as one might 
say, the tube of the funnel. The other way out 
was from Headquarters, level with the summit of 
the dam, and then you found yourself on top of the 
rocky precipice with the river flowing in its con- 
fined channel far below you. It was dusk when 
the boys stood here. 

“ What makes it so dark?” said Harry. “ We 
ought to have light for an hour yet.” 

“ This isn’t twilight,” Bobby answered, sniffing 
the air ; “ it’s storm darkness. Look down at the 
river — it looks like blue steel.” 

It did look like blue steel, and all the material 
of that rugged gully seemed of the same cold shade, 
as if one were looking through smoked glass. 
There was none of the softness of twilight. 

“ Guess we’re going to have a storm,” repeated 
Bobby. " Look at that tree.” 

A tree across the river had all its leaves turned 
up showing their light-colored under sides as if a 


282 


BOY SCOUTS 


breeze were blowing upward from the ground. 
Yet they felt no stir of air. There was something 
unusual and vaguely portentous which they felt 
rather than saw. But what startled them was a 
boat moored to the rocky bank far below them. 
It was of the same color as all else — a dull blue. 

“ That doesn’t belong here,” said Bobby. 

“ Yes, it does ; see, it’s got ‘ U.S.’ on it. It looks 
different on account of this queer darkness.” 

“ Guess you’re right,” said Bobby. 

As they looked down at the boat two figures ap- 
peared from beyond the Headquarters building. 
They clambered like monkeys down into the ravine, 
looking somber enough above, but directly they 
were in that magic valley they were of the same 
hue as all else — the same dull blue. They unfas- 
tened the boat and started down stream in it, look- 
ing like specters far down in that fantastic gloom. 

“ What do you know about that ? ” said Bobby. 

“ I know I’m going to find out,” Harry answered. 
He went around the corner of Headquarters, but 
found the door locked. Conway had evidently 
closed the place but a few minutes before, for he 
was walking along perhaps fifty yards away. 
Harry called to him, “ Those fellows belong 
here? ” 

“What?” said Conway, turning, his face look- 
ing yellow in the vivid, strange half-darkness. 

“ Those fellows belong here ? ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


283 


Conway shook his head and Harry turned back 
to Bobby. “ Conway gets on my nerves/’ he said. 
“ You couldn’t ruffle him with an earthquake. 
He’d just make a memorandum of it and put it on 
the captain’s desk. Shall we follow that pair? ” 

It seemed the part of wisdom to do so. The 
visit of these strangers appeared suspicious enough 
to warrant trailing them to ascertain whence they 
had come, for though there were small communi- 
ties near the Forks, no visitors save an occasional 
excursion party from Fort Benton ever troubled 
the big camp. To the little settlements which 
straggled along the railroad it had long since ceased 
to be a novelty, and the time of day and the sur- 
reptitious departure lent color to the boys’ suspi- 
cions that these strangers were on some sinister 
errand. 

The current, reinforced by the rising wind, car- 
ried the little craft rapidly along, but the boys, who 
knew the country well, could save all the bends and 
so they were enabled, from time to time, to be wait- 
ing for it, effectually concealed amid the rocks and 
brush at the brink of the ravine. 

The wind was rising rapidly now and it seemed 
to catch up and disseminate all the pungent odors 
of nature. 

Down in the gloom of that drear canon the sin- 
gle rower tried to stem the speed at which he was 
being driven, while his companion strove futilely 


284 


BOY SCOUTS 


to keep the little craft head on. The boat had 
reached a part of the river where the rocky walls 
rose almost sheer on either side, with scarcely an 
inch of shore between it and those precipitous 
heights. 

“ Look ! ” said Harry, pointing off across the 
country. 

“ I see,” said Bobby; “ a tent.” 

“Yes, but not that; look beyond! ” 

A great, gray, spreading column arose a mile or 
two away, like a silhouette of a gigantic palm tree, 
and it seemed to move toward them tipsily, as if its 
spreading top were too heavy for it. In the mid- 
dle distance was a tent which shone white and vivid 
in the transparent gloom. 

“ It's a cyclone,” said Bobby. 

The wind was creating havoc all about them. 
It came in spasmodic gusts, uprooting small trees, 
and the upper parts of larger trees were compressed 
to half their circumference as if they were being 
pulled through some great invisible tube. Harry’s 
cap flew off and went whirling upward. Then sud- 
denly, a sort of gray darkness fell upon them, a 
suffocating smell of dust, and the sound of crash- 
ing stone and crackling of great branches. In- 
stinctively, Harry embraced the trunk of a large 
tree. 

“Lie down!” Bobby shrieked and they both 
fell flat. They were in the midst of a whirling 



"AGAIN A PIERCING CRY CAME FROM BELOW. REGARDLESS OF BOBBY'S 
FRANTIC WARNING, HARRY ROSE TO HIS FULL HEIGHT." 














/ 





































ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


285 


pandemonium. Harry dimly heard Bobby say that 
it was not so much of a one and to “ let the top 
spin over him.” 

“ How about the boat?” he called, apprehen- 
sively. 

They crawled along to the brink of the ravine 
and looked over. The little boat was directly be- 
low them, whirling around as if it were on a pivot. 
No figure was to be seen, but amid the sound of 
crashing above and roaring below, there arose a 
cry which made the boys shudder. 

“ Do you see either of them? ” Harry asked. 

“No,” said Bobby; “they’re gone, all right. 
Lie down ! ” he shrieked as Harry rose. “ Can’t 
you do what I tell you — once ! It’ll be worse in a 
minute ! I’ve been through this before. Lie 
down ! ” 

Again a piercing cry came from below. Regard- 
less af Bobby’s frantic warning, Harry rose to his 
full height. He must have removed his shoes 
without Bobby’s knowing it. What happened was 
all in an instant and Bobby did not realize it until 
he was conscious of being alone, and of Harry’s 
shoes and shirt lying near him. Then he knew 
his companion had dived. The despairing cry of 
the dying is irresistible to some, and Harry was one 
of these. He had not the slightest reason to sup- 
pose that his brains would not be crashed out in 
that howling chasm, nor any plan or idea, however 


286 


BOY SCOUTS 


insane, for getting out of it. There was the cry 
and he dived — that was all. 

“ What’s the matter? ” said a voice. “ The wind 
take him over? ” 

Bobby turned and saw two figures, wind-swept 
and wild-looking, crawling and edging toward him. 
He did not answer, only breathed heavily; nor did 
he look closely at the strangers ; everything seemed 
a dream. His senses were numbed with horror. 

The depth of the river where Harry made his 
mad plunge might for all he knew have been but a 
foot or tw'o, but it happened to be nearer fifty, and 
he rose to the surface with a sense of giddiness, but 
with a whole skull. If there were any satisfaction 
in being alive and uninjured, in this seething, roar- 
ing canon, with drowning as the inevitable alterna- 
tive, that dubious triumph was his. He was hardly 
better off than he would have been in the bottom 
of a well; and his dizziness and the tumult all about 
him left him dazed. 

He saw an end of the almost submerged boat 
bobbing near him and a figure clinging to it. What 
he might have done it is hard to say, if his glimpse 
of the sunken boat had not given him an inspira- 
tion. 

Running his hand over the bow, he encountered 
a metal ring with a rope attached to it. The 
weight of his body as he clung to the boat sub- 
merged it still more and the other figure disap- 
peared. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 287 

“Can you swim?” Harry spluttered. “Keep 
up a minute more, if you can.” 

“ All right,” a voice answered. 

Then other voices came from above, thin and 
spent, as if miles away, and yet strangely clear 
amid the uproar. 

“Any one alive down there?” 

Following the rope with his hand, he found that 
it was coiled up under the forward seat and at its 
end, as he had hoped, was a small folding anchor. 

The whole locality, above and below, was in the 
clutch of the whirling tempest. Great branches, 
rent from trees above, were borne into the ravine, 
spun in mid-air and carried away again, or crash- 
ing against the precipitous rocks fell into the tur- 
bulent current. One descended almost upon the 
struggling figures, then shot upward, disappearing 
in the darkness. It seemed like some great, flying 
reptile. Above, the sound of rending and crashing 
and of the furious wind made the voices there to 
seem like voices heard in a dream. Yet there were 
voices. 

“ A second more,” Harry panted. “ Can you 
keep up? ” 

“ Guess — so,” came the answer. 

Then he shouted to those above, but no one an- 
swered. Grasping the rope about two feet from 
the anchor, he clambered up on the logy boat. It 
was a doubtful enough foot-hold, but for one short 


288 


BOY SCOUTS 


moment before it rolled, it braced him somewhat 
against the yielding water. 

Swinging the anchor like a sling-shot, he let it 
fly and fell backward in the water from the force 
of his throw. There was, of course, danger of its 
descending on his own or his companion's head, 
but luckily it did not, and after three vain attempts 
he found that the anchor had caught somewhere 
and when he pulled the rope it was tight. He tried 
his weight upon it and it gave a trifle, then held 
fast. 

Again he shouted to those above and this time 
he thought he heard a faint reply. Then a slight 
jerking of the rope showed that its other end was 
in human hands. 

“ Here," Harry panted. “ Alive yet ? Grab 
this." 

“ There's another," came the gasping answer, 
“ if he hasn't — gone down." 

“ I know it," said Harry. “ Can you climb 
that?" 

He did not wait to see, but dived in search of 
the other occupant of the little boat. Coming up, 
he grasped the end of the craft for a moment’s 
breath before diving again, when he became aware 
of heavy, irregular gulping close to him. Sud- 
denly, amid the whirl and uproar, he caught a 
glimpse of the struggling figure half way up the 
rope. He seemed to be in a circle of dazzling 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


289 


light. Harry had never seen such lightning before ; 
but then, he had never seen such a storm before. 
The ascending form seemed to have another rope 
now, which was looped around under one arm. 

“ Can you make it? ” a thin voice called. There 
was no answer, but the figure climbed slowly, en- 
compassed by that uncanny glare. 

Then a strange thing happened. The glare 
moved slowly down upon Harry, seeking him out 
like a great peering eye, and approaching him with 
tipsy, erratic jerks, like the capricious movement of 
magnified sun-rays when thrown about a room by 
a small lens. 

Then it fairly embraced him, and the little world 
where he was became vivid. There was the gal- 
vanized ring, fastened to the bow of the boat, shin- 
ing brightly, and clicking with the vibration of the 
tightened rope, which disappeared at the circum- 
ference of the circle of light. Outside of this little 
world, all was darkness, but within it all was vivid 
and dazzling; and there in the water-logged boat, 
half in and half out of it, lay a limp body. 

Harry placed one arm around it, and grasping 
the rope, held the head above water, placing no 
more extra weight upon the rope than was neces- 
sary. 

Then the encompassing light moved away and 
he was alone in the darkness holding the dead or 
unconscious body in one arm and grasping the rope 
with the other. 


290 


BOY SCOUTS 


A tightening and quick loosening of the rope 
told him that the ascending figure was over the 
embankment. Groping in the dark, he unfastened 
the rope from the boat and tied it around his own 
body, under the arms. Just then the limp form 
began to cough and splutter. 

“ You all right? ” Harry asked. 

For a minute there was no answer; then a weak, 
“ Guess so.” 

If the person whom he held was indeed alive, 
and so it seemed, he must have managed to keep 
his head out of water until just before the moment 
Harry had discovered him, unconscious in the sub- 
merged boat. 

Again a voice came from above and in the grad- 
ually subsiding uproar it sounded clearer and more 
human. And again the strange light played 'about 
the two drenched and storm-tossed figures. 

“ All right?” Harry asked again. 

“ Yes — I — ” 

“ That’s all right,” said Harry. “ I’ll let your 
head hang so you’ll get rid of the water. I’ve got 
you tight — you can faint if you want to — you’re 
safe.” 

“ S-safe,” gasped the other; “ I — ” 

“ Sure, you’re safe.” 

Harry’s arms tightened about the half-conscious 
form like a hoop of steel. 

“ All right down there?” a voice called. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


291 


" All right,” Harry shouted. 

“ Both of you? ” 

“ Both,” called Harry. “ All right ; can you 
pull?” 

The strange light encompassed the pair as slowly 
they rose, bruised and bleeding from the jagged 
projections, up the frowning wall. The wind 
thrust them against it, but Harry took the brunt of 
this as best he could, and dexterously maneuvered 
to keep his companion free. 

Sometimes the rope creaked ominously and he 
feared it might give way, but the arms which 
clasped the other close and tight, held firm, and so, 
no doubt, they would have held if the two had 
gone down together. 

“ I — I know a chain — ” 

“ That's all right,” Harry soothed, believing his 
companion to be half delirious. 

“ Both alive? ” came again from above. 

“ Sure ! ” yelled Harry. 

“ All right, then, George, you might as well,” 
he heard the voice say. 

Harry did not know how they came over the 
brink of the ravine, for he fainted just as some one 
grasped him. Yet even in his unconscious state, 
they had to unlock his fingers one by one to sep- 
arate his two hands and release his hold upon the 
one he had rescued. It was Bobby Cullen who 
stooped and did this, and as he gently loosened the 


292 


BOY SCOUTS 


fingers he saw how firmly they had been interlaced 
by the white spots where each finger had indented 
the opposite hand. 

As the others lifted the figure of their rescued 
companion, Bobby saw who it was that Harry had 
brought up out of those black, tempestuous waters; 
saw who it was that the fellow he had shunned and 
called a “ Panama prig ” had found and brought 
back to him — the “ lame Query ” of Long Gulch ! 

Bobby did not follow Mr. Conne and the others 
who bore Wesley into the shredded remnant which 
had been a tent, but stayed just where he was, 
brushing that rebellious lock of wavy hair off the 
forehead of Harry’s prostrate form, bathing the 
white face with water that the whirling cyclone had 
raised up from the river far below, and which 
lodged near by among the rocks and hollows. 

When they came to bear Harry also into that 
forlorn shelter, Bobby seemed for the moment to 
resent it, as if none had any right here but himself, 
or were privileged to minister to his unconscious 
friend. For it was the same loyal, blindly stead- 
fast and unreasoning Bobby, with all the prejudice 
which was part of his stanch devotion. 

There is a popular impression abroad that in the 
famous “ movie ” play of “ The Cyclone Hero ” in 
three reels, a rag dummy was used and that it was 
this which the hero clasped in his dizzy and thrilling 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


293 


ascent out of the ravine. Nothing could be further 
from the truth. “ The Cyclone Hero,” notwith- 
standing its breathless dramatic effect, was wholly 
an accidental production. No preparations for it 
had been made and no deceptive paraphernalia was 
used. If you have seen this sensational play you 
must have noticed how the limp, half-drowned 
figure, reaches out its hand instinctively to avoid 
the jagged cliffs. Such realistic precautions would 
be quite impossible in the case of a rag dummy. 

Since the reels have become so famous, it is un- 
fortunate that the really best part of this actual 
occurrence could not be made apparent in the films, 
for all one sees there is the thrilling action against 
the background of that terrific storm. Little the 
public dreams that the rescue not only reunited long 
lost friends, but fulfilled the hero's dream of some 
time falling in with his erstwhile and adventurous 
friend, Mr. Carleton Conne. 

That is where a story is better than a motion- 
picture play. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE LAUGH IS ON HARRY 

“ And if you’ve been making Lewis and Clarke 
reels,” said Harry, “ we’ve got something that’ll 
interest you, haven’t we, Bobby ? ” 

“We sure have,” said Bobby, “ but we don’t 
want a word of it mentioned yet — see?” 

“ I will be as silent as the grave, Harry boy,” 
said Mr. Conne. 

It was the next afternoon after the cyclone and 
all six of them — Harry, Wesley, Bobby, Andy 
Breen, George Warren and Mr. Conne — were 
seated (on such seats as they could find) in Bobby’s 
cabin. Wesley, after an absence of nearly a year 
which had taken him far among the South Sea 
Islands, had passed the night on his own cot here 
in his old familiar home. He had awakened to the 
strain of Bobby’s harmonica and eaten the break- 
fast which Bobby had cooked. Everything seemed 
the same. He had seen the captain in the morning 
(he had rather dreaded that interview) and had 
told him the whole story from the beginning. 

“ Well,” the captain had said, “ then you did 
belong in Oakwood; I was puzzled as to why you 
294 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


295 


didn’t go ashore there from the launch that day. 
Pm glad to see you, Wesley; and you're back just 
in time. Do you mean to go down the Mississippi 
with us?” 

“ M-may I?” Wesley had said with a touch of 
that old feeling of awe which he always experienced 
in the captain’s brisk presence. 

“ Surely you may.” 

Then in the afternoon the Conne party had come 
in from their neighboring camp to find out how the 
rescuer and the rescued were coming on. They, 
likewise, had met the captain, for the boys exhib- 
ited him as one of the sights; they had inspected 
Uncle Sam’s great work, and now they had come 
to rest a minute in the little cabin which, far or 
near, Wesley always thought of as home. 

“ When it comes to Lewis and Clarke,” said 
Harry, hauling out a large zinc chest, “ we’ve got 
it all over you. We’ve got something that will 
give you a lot of free advertising for your Lewis 
and Clarke reels.” 

“ Hmmm,” said Mr. Conne, “ that’ll be nice.” 

“ When this gets into the papers,” said Bobby, 
“ the country will be so daft about anything con- 
nected with Lewis and Clarke that — ” 

“ Why,” interrupted Harry, “ you’ll be able to 
get fifty cents admission instead of ten ! ” 

“ That’s good,” said Mr. Conne, cocking his head 
and eyeing the box; “we’ll all be rich then, eh, 


296 


BOY SCOUTS 


Wesley? Well, Harry boy, what kind of an ad- 
venture is it now? Let’s have it.” 

“ Oh,” said Bobby, catching the amused note in 
Mr. Conne’s voice, “ you can laugh, but I can tell 
you Harry Arnold ought to be in the Secret Serv- 
ice — he’d be getting fifty per. You can take that 
from me! Do you know what that is? ” 

“ Seems to be a kind of box,” said Mr. Conne. 

“ Looks like a box to me,” volunteered Andy. 

“ That’s my guess,” said George Warren. 

“ Well, then, I’ll tell you what it is,” said Bobby 
proudly, ignoring Harry’s modesty. “ It’s the box 
that Lewis and Garke cached and couldn’t find 
afterward, but we — I mean Harry — found it by 
deduction ! ” 

“ Good for you, Harry,” said Mr. Conne ; 
u there’s no use anybody trying to hide anything 
from you. It’s just a waste of time.” 

“ It’ll make a sensation all right inside of an- 
other month,” said Harry boastfully. 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised if it made a sensation 
in another minute. Let’s look at the inside of it, 
Harry.” 

“ Remember, now,” said Harry, glancing around 
the little assemblage, “ not a word of this to any- 
body until we’ve turned 'the things over to the 
Smithsonian Institute. We don’t want it to leak 
out in the newspapers. And I don’t want to be 
bothered by having a lot of reporters following me 
around,” he added, rather arrogantly. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


297 


Proudly Harry and Bobby opened the box and 
the complacent, humorously critical look which 
Mr. Conne bestowed on the carefully-packed treas- 
ures would have made an entertaining picture film 
in itself. 

“ And those things have been in the ground since 
1805,” said Harry impressively. 

Mj\ Conne stooped and picked up a small, dilap- 
idated volume. “ Funny,” said he, “ that Lewis 
and Clarke should start off in 1805 with a copy of 
Robinson Crusoe , published in 1815. Let’s see 
some more things, Harry boy.” 

“What?” said Harry. 

“ How ? ” said Bobby. 

Mr. Conne gingerly picked up the torn American 
flag and shook it open. “ Hmmm — I suppose this 
is the flag they used on their travels. — Wonder 
how many stars it’s got. — Let’s see — four — 
eight — sixteen — twenty — twenty-eight — thirty- 
six — forty-three — hmmm — forty-six stars. — 
Funny. Couldn’t have been that many states in 
1805.” He did not appear to notice the crestfallen 
faces of the two young discoverers. Wesley saw 
Andy Breen wink at George Warren. 

“What’s this, Harry boy?” said Mr. Conne, 
hauling out the cylindrical thing which looked like 
a peanut-roaster. 

“I — I don’t know,” Harry stammered. 

“ Any idea what that is, Wesley? ” 


298 


BOY SCOUTS 


Wesley laughed. It had puzzled him once, even 
as it puzzled Harry and Bobby. “ I think,” said 
he, “ that it’s for making artificial smoke in motion- 
pictures. Put some of that black powder in the 
big bottle into the cylinder and try it, Harry.” 

To say that you could have knocked Harry down 
with a feather would be putting it mildly. In his 
vanquished and humiliated state, it would have been 
brutal to hit him with a feather. You could have 
knocked him down with a hair! Bobby sat on the 
couch close by the great detective, his head in his 
two hands. 

“What did I say about that sod of earth?” he 
wailed. “ Oh, what did I say about that sod of 
earth? I said it was an artificial sod and a fresh 
sod ! Oh, why didn’t I stick to it ? Where are we 
at ? What are we up against ? ” 

The great deducer likewise buried his head in 
his hands. 

“Didn’t I say it was a fresh sod of earth?” 
moaned Bobby; “didn’t I remind you of that little 
fact?” 

“Don’t talk to me about little facts,” said the 
new Sherlock Holmes. “ Hit us again, we’re 
down ! Let us know the worst ! ” 

“Well, then,” said Mr. Conne, placing his arm 
over Wesley’s shoulder, as if he, at least, were to 
be trusted; “the worst is this, Harry. That after 
befriending you at Panama, letting you use my 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


299 


quinine pills, rescuing your parrot from the wily 
Spaniard, helping to procure you the very medal 
which you wear, — how do you repay me? I re- 
peat, How do you repay me? You go and break 
open my private storehouse and take the only pair 
of Indian pants which I owned. Look in the 
pocket and you’ll find a subway ticket. That you 
may have, but give me back my Indian pants ! ” 

His three faithful followers stood by him and 
his air was that of wounded confidence and just 
wrath. “ You have copped our tom-tom,” he con- 
tinued mournfully, “ and purloined our camera tri- 
pod.” 

Bobby’s lowered head rocked woefully in his 
hands. “ I thought it was a transit tripod,” he 
groaned. 

Mr. Conne fixed him with a look of scorn. 
“ Captain Lewis’s buckskin suit, for which I paid 
eight dollars and a half, is gone, and Captain Lewis, 
on his way east, has been put to the humiliation of 
wearing a golf suit! — A patent cigar lighter has 
gone with it ! ” he added, sadly. 

“ I never looked in the pockets,” moaned Harry, 
miserably. 

“ Nor on the title page of Robinson Crusoe ” 
said Mr. Conne. Then, changing his tone, 
“ Harry,” said he, “ far be it from me to deprecate 
your deeds of heroism, but as a deducer — I would 
suggest, Harry boy, that when you are deducing 
it is just as well to look in the pockets.” 


300 


BOY SCOUTS 


Thus ended the remarkable adventure of The 
Lost Cache. The Conne party, it appeared, had 
availed themselves of the convenient expedient of 
caching a part of their property against their re- 
turn, and the elusive cubby-hole of the redoubtable 
Lewis and Clarke is still a mystery. 

Yet who shall say that Harry’s quest was fruit- 
less? He believes, to this day, that the four stones 
and the punky fragments which had once been a 
timber, mark the identical spot where the adven- 
turous captains hauled their boat ashore and 
blocked it-, preparatory to making camp. And 
Gordon Lord (who is a specialist on such things) 
is a stanch and voluble supporter of Harry’s 
theory. He even sent a fragment of the rotten 
timber to the Smithsonian Institute, but despite the 
fact that they paid two cents extra postage on it, 
it is not to be found in the exhibit halls of that 
renowned and time-honored institution. It is pos- 
sible that they regard the relic as too priceless to 
be thus imprudently shown, and Gordon believes 
this to be the case, citing the famous and deplorable 
instance of the theft of the Mona Lisa from the 
Louvre. 

But if Harry suffered a disappointment, and even 
a measure of humiliation under Bobby’s withering 
gaze, he had at least brought Wesley back and 
found the Conne party, and as he very truly 
(though rather inconsistently) observed, “ What is 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


301 

a lot of old buried junk compared with one’s old- 
time friends?” 

Bobby answered that the buried junk was as 
nothing, and that he had no interest in it anyway; 
yet often when the lost cache was mentioned, he 
was heard to murmur ruefully, “ Oh, why didn’t 
I stick to that little fact about the fresh sod of 
earth when he told me the Smithsonian Institute 
was getting ready to throw roses and violets at us? 
What are roses and violets compared with a little 
fact?” 

The boys now learned that Wesley and Andy 
Breen had come to the Gulch the night before 
(Wesley to show Andy the locality) and that they 
had come after hours because of Wesley’s disin- 
clination to be seen and recognized. 

Conway had given Andy the permit to involve 
the dam in a magnificent catastrophe (provided the 
dam was left intact). 

It is not a part of our programme to linger for a 
sight of that stupendous spectacle, the destruction 
of Long Gulch Dam, which was one of the most 
effective ocular delusions that Mr. Conne’s bold in- 
genuity ever conceived. Moreover, the device of 
the spiral curtains, by which one movement of top- 
pling masonry was multiplied to produce the illusion 
of utter ruin, is pending patent and not to be pub- 
licly described until full legal protection has been 
established. It was a great occasion for the Gulch 


302 


BOY SCOUTS 


and the only damage which was apparent afterward 
was a spot where Conway spilled a bottle of copy- 
ing ink in the Headquarters doorway, in his haste 
to see the catastrophe. 

“ That will be a five-reel act, Harry boy,” said 
Mr. Conne, “ and now for the land of Cortez. 
Tve had enough of this pilfering country. My 
wardrobe was copped and now my Captain Lewis 
is taken from me. If I camp around here much 
longer my watch will in all probability disappear. 
The captain was telling me that a few of you peo- 
ple are going down the Mississippi as far as Cairo 
to make mattresses and sheets and pillowcases and 
things for the Old Lady. Now, I’m going along 
to get a squint at that work, — educative reels, you 
know, that’s what the Board of Censors is after. 
We’ve got our shanty-boat, the Slow Poke, down in 
Cairo. So you’ll have us for company a ways.” 

Harry and Wesley both stared. 

" I get my vacation when we break up at Cairo,” 
said Harry. 

“ And I’m off to Oakwood to study for Civil 
Service,” said Wesley. 

“ You remember Jack Holden, don’t you, Mr. 
Conne?” Harry asked. 

“ The soldier boy? Well, I guess yes! ” 

“ Well, he’s been down in Mexico; I had a letter 
from him and he’ll be home on leave about the time 
we strike Missouri. You know, he lives in Whit- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


303 

ville, right on the Mississippi. I’m going down 
there to see him.” 

“ Well, well,” said Mr. Conne. “ Look here, 
Harry, here’s a regular ring-around-the-rosy prop- 
osition, right hot out of the oven! Here’s a plan 
where we can all get together and stand in a row 
when the curtain goes down. Regular old-fash- 
ioned melodrama, hey, Harry?” 

“ Let’s hear it,” Harry laughed. 

“Well, the fact — now keep your seat, Harry, 
and hold your ear sideways — the fact is I’m about 
two-thirds of a mind to jump down into Mexico — 
via the Mississippi.” 

Harry jumped for Mr. Conne via the rough din- 
ing-board, and gripped his arm. 

“ Sure as you live,” continued Mr. Conne, in his 
funny way. “ Get right down there in the thick 
of it and reel up the whole business. I could run 
a special in New York with it at a dollar a head — 
easy. There’s going to be some doings down there 
pretty quick. Old Huerta’s got to be turned up 
and spanked — it’ll make a great film.” 

Harry thought that such a performance would, 
indeed, make a most novel film. 

“ I’ve got the Slow Poke tied up in Cairo — I 
ever tell you about the Slow Poke, Harry? No? ” 

“ It isn’t a shanty-boat, is it ? ” Harry laughed. 

“ Well, Wesley knows all about it, for we’ve told 
him. Now, Harry, when you get as far as Cairo, 


304 


BOY SCOUTS 


I want you three boys to come down to Baxter’s 
Landing and I’ll show you the Slow Poke. Then 
if you should feel like going on down the river with 
us to the Gulf, why — ” 

“ If we should ! ” laughed Harry. 

“ I was only going to say,” said Mr. Conne, 
“ that you’ll be welcome aboard the Slow Poke — 
provided you don’t take any of our Wild West 
wardrobe — ” 

“ Never again,” said Bobby, grimly. 

Harry’s manifest delight reflected the eagerness 
of his two companions. To work down the Mis- 
sissippi as far as Cairo and then to terminate their 
labors with a visit to Mexico in company with this 
original trio, seemed too good to be true. But 
something still better and equally true was to hap- 
pen, if Harry had only known it. 

“ How’s Gordon these days, Harry boy ? ” asked 
Mr. Conne, suddenly bethinking him of that active 
youngster whom he had met in Panama. 

“ Oh, he’s all right,” laughed Harry. “ He’s 
got a new proposition now called the Westward Ho 
Syndicate. I bought some stock and got a dividend 
of eleven cents not long ago. I haven’t the slight- 
est idea what the scheme is.” 

They all laughed and Mr. Conne shook his head, 
smiling reminiscently. " I’d rather see that kid 
again than a Mexican war any day,” he mused. 
“ He was as good as a joke-book.” Gordon had 
been a great favorite with Mr. Conne. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


30 $' 


“ The only thing is,” said Harry, recurring to the 
proposed expedition, “ could we stop at Whitville 
for a call on Jack? Would you be willing for the 
Slow Poke to stop so — ” 

“ Harry,” said Mr. Conne, grimly, “ I have no 
influence whatever with the Slow Poke. I can 
make no rash promises. She stops wherever and 
whenever she feels like it.” 

“ And she usually feels like it on an average of 
twice a minute,” said George Warren. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


ENTER THE SLOW POKE 

“ There you are,” said Bobby, pointing across 
to the Illinois shore ; “ there she is — old Rough 
and Ready! Jiminy crinks, but that reminds me 
of old times ! ” 

It was the morning of the third day down from 
St. Louis, and the three boys were looking from 
the rail of one of the big Mississippi government 
boats as she steamed into the stretch of river where 
the government work was going on. 

Several hundred feet back from the Illinois 
shore there arose a long, grassy hummock, beyond 
which could be seen the tops of houses and a church 
spire. It continued far to the south, disappearing 
at the next bend of the river. 

“ Is that a levee ? ” Harry asked. 

“ It seems too abrupt on this side,” Wesley ven- 
tured. 

“ Listen to the engineer,” said Bobby. " Its 
slope is on the other side, dearie, and it protects 
four villages and goodness knows how many square 
miles of land. Fve seen the water right up to the 
306 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


307 

very top of that, but never a crevasse . 1 Hey, 
Easter,” he called, “ here’s old Gibraltar ! ” 

Easter came out eagerly. 

“ Easter and I were the first ones to walk on that 
levee, weren’t we, Easter? There’s a foot-path its 
whole length — runs way down to Conner’s Land- 
ing. That was before Query was ever heard of,” 
he added mischievously. “ That’s the principal 
thing levees are for, isn’t it, Easter? For fellows 
and girls to walk on. Many’s the time Easter 
and I—” 

“We didn’t!” said Easter. 

“ Didn’t what ? ” said Bobby. 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” she re- 
torted, weakly. 

“ Do you deny that I used to row out every even- 
ing and get you for a walk on the levee?” de- 
manded Bobby. There was no answer to this ex- 
cept Easter’s heightened color, and Bobby gave the 
back of Wesley’s head a vigorous push and winked 
at Harry. 

“ I surveyed all the way down to the landing,” 
said Bobby, with that ingenuous boastfulness which 
characterized him, and which was robbed of all 
conceit ; “ and came up on Stillson’s dredge — re- 
member, Easter? And there’s the old back-stop 
they’re working on. We’ll be in at the finish, 
Easter. I bet the Arizona bunch is there ! ” 


1 Crevasse ; a hole in the levee. 


3°8 


BOY SCOUTS 


The lumbering boat was now headed for shore, 
where other similar ones were anchored and a tug 
went steaming about. 

“ She’s going to be a good big one/’ said Bobby, 
eyeing the unfinished stretch of levee. “ If we’re 
in at the finish I’ll have a nice quiet walk on her 
with — Harry.” He gave Wesley’s head another 
significant push. “ What do you think Easter 
did — Oh, oi, oi, oi,” he broke off; “if there 
isn’t Pickle Edwards! They’ve been tagging them 
from all over the country. Look, Easter! 
Where’s my harmonica? I’ll give ’em ‘The Old 
Folks at Home ’ ! Oh, mother, mother, pin a rose 
on me if there isn’t Mack! Hello, you long- 
lost—” 

Harry was almost angry with the girl that she 
did not catch Bobby’s enthusiasm and join in those 
pleasant memories as he rattled on. There was 
something so wholesome and friendly about Bobby. 
But as the big steamer approached the shore she 
did fall into his spirit and laughed with him and 
told him not to be absurd, and the evidence of the 
long, even friendship between them was very pleas- 
ant to see. Harry and Wesley envied them as they 
pointed out to each other people they had known 
before in their country-wide excursions under 
Uncle Sam. 

It would be pleasant, no doubt, to linger with 
the party as they steamed down the Mississippi, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


309 


but it must suffice for us to hasten on to the extraor- 
dinary experiences which awaited the three boys. 

It was during that period of work on the levees 
that Wesley reestablished his title to the nickname 
which Mike had given him, so that when the time 
at last came for breaking up he was pretty well 
versed in the peculiarities and tactics of the great 
river. 

It was a beautiful spring day when they floated 
into Cairo, where the “ Pilgrims of the Gulch,” as 
they had been dubbed, were scattered to the four 
winds. Captain Craig went to Washington to ex- 
plain the need of some appropriations and to pre- 
pare for his trip to Alaska. Mr. Barney went up 
the Ohio with the Merricks for channel and revet- 
ment work. Mike had remained on the levees 
above, while Mack and Pickle Edwards went off on 
survey work in the Ozarks. 

Harry, you will understand, was now regularly 
in government service, and he and Bobby were on 
leave. Wesley’s programme was to prepare for 
Civil Service (which he sorely regretted he had not 
done two years before) and leave the rest to Cap- 
tain Craig. 

The purpose of the trio was now to hunt out the 
Slow Poke , cast their lot with the Conne party and 
continue down the river on pleasure and adventure 
bent. 

For a while it seemed as if they were not going 


3io 


BOY SCOUTS 


to make connections for the wharves and floats 
showed no hint of the Slow Poke. They were just 
beginning to fear that the elusive Mr. Conne had al- 
ready proceeded down stream when Wesley espied 
a homely stove-pipe rearing its rusty length from 
among a group of small craft, and close beside it 
a pennant bearing the words, excelsior films. 
They went down the wharf and found a strange 
contraption which bore some resemblance to a 
mooring-float, with a small peaked-roof house 
at one end of it. A dilapidated tent which the 
boys thought they recognized was pitched on the 
spacious deck and across one side of the house dis- 
ported with unblushing brazenness the words, in 
large black letters, excelsior films are full of 
action. On another side appeared the bold-faced 
announcement, history repeats itself in excel- 
sior films, while nestling more modestly below this 
sentence was the red-lettered claim that excelsior 
films are true and wholesome and take you 
back to nature ; and a good-sized flag proclaimed 
that excelsior films are educative. 

On the platform, which I suppose should be 
called deck, were two or three kitchen chairs and 
despite the ramshackle and wholly incongruous ap- 
pearance of this preposterous boat, there was never- 
theless a suggestion of homely comfort about it. 

“ Reminds you of Mike’s hat, doesn’t it?” said 
Bobby, surveying the signs. “ I’ll bet a hundred 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3ii 

dollars against a doughnut we have some fun on 
this thing.” 

Such a craft would have been quite outlandish 
on the Hudson, and along the river at home in Oak- 
wood it would have given rise to unholy mirth on 
the part of Brick Parks and his ilk. But on the 
Mississippi every freak device is seen and in the 
bohemian fraternity of the great stream no one 
would look twice at the boastful Slow Poke. For 
the mighty, heedless river has taught the good les- 
son of independence to those who dwell upon it. 
The “ Old Lady ” has always done pretty much as 
she pleases and encouraged her denizens to do the 
same. 

The boys softly opened the door and stepped into 
— what appeared to be the fifteenth century. A 
personage in priestly vestments arose and gripped 
the hand of Wesley. Another personage arose, 
cocked his head sideways, worked a cigar over to 
the extreme corner of his mouth and advanced to- 
ward Harry, with a whimsical, but cordial air. He 
wore a great black hat with an enormous red feather 
on it, a gray suit trimmed with gorgeous lace, 
knickerbockers tied with great bows at the knee and 
rosetted pumps. 

“ What in the name of — ” began Harry. 

“ Harry boy, you are face to face with the great 
La Salle. Allow me to introduce you to Father 
Hennipen — the renowned Jesuit missionary. We 


3 12 


BOY SCOUTS 


have just escaped from a tribe of Indians and are 
about to tackle a couple of hot frankfurters — if 
Andy will be good enough to stir up the fire. Mr. 
Cullen, if you will kindly remove that train-rob- 
ber’s suit you will find a comfortable seat beneath. 
Harry, I don’t know whether to trust you in here 
or not.” 

“ We won’t take anything,” laughed Harry. 

“ Never again,” said Bobby. 

“ Then,” said Mr. Conne, beginning to remove 
his gorgeous raiment, “ let bygones be bygones and 
welcome to the Slow Poke. When did you reach 
Cairo ? ” 

You may imagine with what delight and antici- 
pation the three boys joined the party, and if the 
Slow Poke proved worthy of her name (which she 
certainly did) it only made their progress more en- 
joyable. She gloried in a one-cylinder, four horse 
power engine, and it seemed hardly less than brutal 
to make it do the work of propelling that lumber- 
ing craft. On the second day out Wesley had a 
quiet little heart-to-heart talk with this engine and 
persuaded it to run a little better. 

Thus they advanced majestically down stream, 
camping on islands, where Harry did the cooking, 
and working out the last La Salle reel, in which the 
historic assassination of the intrepid explorer was 
enacted. When they passed New Madrid, Harry 
kept a weather eye out along the Missouri shore, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3i3 


for he knew that Whitville must now be close at 
hand, where he hoped to find his soldier friend. 
Jack Holden. He had no knowledge of Jack’s 
home, more than what Jack and Gordon had told 
him, for Gordon had stopped there on his own 
journey down the river with his uncle and cousins, 
the Howells, while en route for Panama. 

“ Do you know,” said George Warren, “ I think 
the river’s rising; look off there! ” 

“ Spreading, you mean,” said Mr. Conne ; “ she’ll 
be up against that levee to-morrow. Well, doesn’t 
make much difference how high she runs or how 
wide, long as we’re on top of her.” 

“ It might make a difference to some people,” 
said Wesley. 

That night they tied the Slow Poke to a tree 
alongshore and, it being cold, spent the night in 
the little house, Mr. Conne entertaining the three 
guests with tales of his adventures. In the morn- 
ing the Slow Poke was on the other side of the tree 
where had been dry land the night before. A 
marshy area just below them was undoubtedly 
filling. 

During the day they passed through a fairly 
populated region, protected by levees, and here the 
rise, occasioned by the confinement of the river to 
its minor bed, was graphically visible in tree-tops 
sticking out of the water, apparently from sub- 
merged islands. The boys were a little apprehen- 


3i4 


BOY SCOUTS 


sive and very much interested. Mr. Conne noticed 
that Wesley was intent upon every aspect and mani- 
festation of what was going on. He seemed to 
have detached himself from the others and was 
studying the river as an astronomer might scru- 
tinize some new star. 

At dusk they had reached a point where the 
river seemed abnormally wide, and they gazed far 
off across a veritable sea where the Kentucky shore 
should have been visible. Both shores (at one of 
which they must tie up for the night) seemed an 
unconscionable distance away. 

“ She takes plenty of elbow room wherever she 
gets the chance,” commented Mr. Conne. 

It was, in one sense, a magnificent spectacle to 
see with what bland assurance of prior right the 
mighty river spread slowly across the occasional 
vast areas of waste land which she still claims for 
her own; but save for these places she rose rather 
than spread, flanked by the levees. 

“ She must have looked like an inland sea before 
the levees were built,” said Harry. 

Late that afternoon they tied up close by a levee, 
against which the rising waters lapped innocently. 
But the stream had spread two hundred yards be- 
fore reaching this bulwark and the Slow Poke was 
moored over flooded land. Over the summit of 
the levee the tops of houses seemed to be peeking 
surreptitigi^ly at the strangers. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3i5 


The inhabitants of the place came up on the levee 
and chatted with them. They wanted to know if 
the Slow Poke sold medicines, particularly a “ rheu- 
matiz cure,” — which threw some light on the kind 
of medical service which prevails along the great 
river, where the doctor is apt to be a quack doctor 
and to travel in a shanty-boat. 

The people did not seem at all alarmed, their 
chief feeling being one of disappointment that the 
Slow Poke had no motion-picture entertainment to 
offer. They blamed the flood to the Ohio, and said 
that the water would ^w&side before it reached the 
top of the levees. Near the Slow Poke was moored 
a “ Gospel Boat,” and a few, in lieu of a motion- 
picture show, scrambled down and into this. Pres- 
ently, “ Bridgework Bennet ” (according to the sign 
on his ramshackle craft) floated in. The boys 
thought the “ Bridgework ” might pertain to gov- 
ernment engineering until Bridgework Bennet him- 
self appeared and announced that he would fill teeth 
for two bits apiece while the flood lasted, and his 
boat was forthwith overrun with customers. 

The boys were amused to see how the flood was 
so far from perilous that it was actually providen- 
tial, enabling the floating population to bring its 
wares and entertainments to the very foot of the 
levee. 

“ Flood’s like a circus come to town, isn’t it ? ” 
said Mr. Conne. 


3 l6 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ I hope Bloten comes along before it jw&sides,” 
said a woman. “ I want to get a yard more calico 
same’s I got last flood.” 

“ How far is it to Whitville ? ” Harry asked. 

“ Who ye want daown there ? ” 

“ Oh, some one. How far is it ? ” 

“Ye ain’t wantin’ Nick Slade? He’s a play- 
actor.” 

“No,” said Harry; “fellow by the name of 
Holden.” 

“ Not Devil Jack?” 

Harry laughed. “Well, that might suit him,” 
said he. 

“ He’s in the arrmy,” one volunteered. 

“ He’s ter hum,” another corrected. 

“ He’s kilt,” said another. 

“ No, he hain’t kilt, neither. He wuz bobbin’ 
fer eels last week — he wuz. I seed him.” 

“ Holdens don’t live ter Whitville,” another 
called. 

“ They git ther’ mail ter Whitville,” protested 
some one. 

“ Tain’t no fault of hisen if he wuzn’t kilt,” said 
a woman. 

Harry could not help chuckling at the truth of 
this remark. 

A tall man, wearing a sombrero and with a dis- 
tinctly cowboyish aspect, appeared, brushing these 
contending informants aside and speaking in a rich, 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3i7 

resonant voice, “ Holdens live out t’ the end uv the 
bend.” ** 

“ What bend ? ” called Mr. Conne. 

“ Little Snake Bend. You’re at the top uv it 
naow. ’Bove this is Angleworm Bend. Then the 
next one b’low’s Big Snake Bend. Ye jest keep 
right on daown, follerin’ this here shore; don’t go 
’cross the way or she may take ye over the 
marrshes. Keep right along here. Ye’ll pass a 
row o’ hills. Holdens’ place is the fust one ye see 
after them. It’s right close b’the shore.” 

The voyagers had had no idea that Jack Holden’s 
home was so near. 

As they chugged along the Missouri shore, the 
discordant croaking of frogs in the marshes, the 
paling glint of sunlight on the waters, and the grow- 
ing chill in the air, heralded the coming of a night 
which was to be momentous in the lives of all the 
party. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE MISSISSIPPI SIDESTEPS 

The direction of the river at the little village 
where the party had stopped was southwest. A 
short distance below it made an abrupt turn to the 
southeast, then a more sweeping turn and ran 
southwest again. Within the upper and sharper 
bend was a patch of marshy country with low hills 
between it and the river. Near the extreme end 
of this lower and wider turn was the isolated home 
of Jack Holden; and below, along the lower south- 
western stretch of the stream, was the village of 
Whitville. You will see by glancing at the map 
that Whitville was directly south of the sharp upper 
bend. 

For a short distance the Slow Poke sailed south- 
west, along a fairly straight line of shore. The 
bordering land was fast dissolving into darkness 
and the swarming legions of insect pests betokened 
the neighborhood of the marshes. To their right, 
far across the stream, could be seen a line of low 
hills, a tangible and solid black against the less sub- 
stantial darkness. They formed one of the few 
318 






















P IH ■|| i 



. 





































. 












> 






ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3i9 

natural bulwarks which nature has vouchsafed to 
man in his struggle with the great river. 

“ It seems to me,” said Mr. Conne, “ thart if this 
turn, or bend, or whatever they call it, is going to 
keep up its reputation for sharpness it had better be 
about it.” 

“ We may have made the turn already,” said 
Harry ; “ you don't realize it in the dark. A river 
as wide as this can't make a very sharp turn.” 

“ Oh, can’t it, though,” said Bobby. “ It can 
tie itself into a four-in-hand inside of a mile, let me 
tell you ! ” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Conne, looking at his little 
watch-charm compass, “ she's started to bend al- 
ready, but it isn’t going to be as sharp a bend as I 
expected, for we’re headed due south now.” 

“ I wish we had a bottle of mosquito dope,” said 
Wesley, bestowing a murderous and resonant slap 
upon his own face. 

It seemed, indeed, that the people who had di- 
rected them were wrong. The Slow Poke had 
come southwest, following the Missouri shore 
closely, then instead of turning abruptly eastward, 
the party found themselves sailing due south. 

Presently, a light became visible directly before 
them. 

“ Do you suppose that's another boat?” Harry 
asked. 

“ No, it’s on shore,” said Mr. Conne. “ I think 


320 


BOY SCOUTS 


it’s a house. That’s where we turn east, I sup- 
pose.” 

Pretty soon they found that the shore was as 
close to them on one side as on the other, and they 
decided that they had run into a deep bay and were 
almost at the end of it. 

“ You don’t suppose that could be Jack’s place, 
do you ? ” Harry said. “ I’ve a sneaking idea we 
made that bend without knowing it.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Conne, “ I suppose any idea is 
better than none. I have none. I’ll take the bend 
on faith; I’m not aware of any bend. But I’m 
going to tie up at this shore and inquire of that 
kindly light where we are at, and suspend opera- 
tions until morning.” 

They moored the Slow Poke to a willow which 
stood in the water and Harry waded to shore and 
started in the direction of the light. About ten 
minutes after he had gone, Bobby decided to go 
also and was surprised to find that the distance of a 
few feet which Harry had waded across was now 
increased to a hundred feet or more. The water 
seemed shallow all the way, but he did not venture 
far, returning instead to the Slow Poke. 

“ We’ve drifted away,” he said, climbing breath- 
less and saturated, onto the deck. “Look where 
the shore is ! ” 

“ / can’t see where the shore is,” said Wesley. 

“ But the Slow Poke ” said Mr. Conne in his dry 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


321 

way, “ is still nestling alongside the weeping wil- 
low.” 

“ Well, what’s going on anyway?” said Bobby. 
“ Where are we at ? ” 

“ Is that a conundrum ? ” asked Mr. Conne. 

“Couldn’t we get out the limelight?” Wesley 
asked. “ Perhaps it would give us a line on what’s 
doing. How’s Harry going to get back anyway ? ” 

The plain fact was, as you, who see the map, will 
appreciate, that they were indeed near the end of a 
long, narrow bay whose length was increasing every 
minute. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Conne, “ if the shore is mov- 
ing away, I think we had better follow it.” 

So they unfastened the Slow Poke and let her 
drift toward the light which Harry had followed. 

Meanwhile, Harry had reached the house and 
knocked at the door, which was opened by a tall, 
raw-boned young man. 

“Have you any idea where Holdens live?” 
Harry inquired. “ I came off a boat right down 
here at the shore; we’re sort of lost or strayed.” 

The fellow stared at him blankly. “ Yer come 
all the way down from the river? ” he asked. 

“ Right down there,” said Harry. 

“ Where?” 

“Where?” repeated Harry, laughing; “I’ll 
show you the light in our boat ; we — ” 

“Ye can’t see no light on the river from here,” 
said the fellow. 


322 


BOY SCOUTS 


But the Slow Poke was even nearer now than 
when Harry had left it, and he pointed out her 
small lantern light flickering in the darkness. 

“ That ain’t on the river ? ” the young man al- 
most shrieked. 

“ Oh, but it is,” said Harry. 

For a moment the other stared straight at him 
with a look that Harry never forgot, then he turned 
and rushing into the house, called, “ She’s cutting! 
The river’s cutting ! ” 

Harry was conscious of an old woman coming 
down the stairs mumbling and wringing her hands, 
and of a second man in the room. He did not 
know how the man came there ; but he saw that the 
information which he had unconsciously brought 
them was of perilous import. From that minute 
everything which happened seemed all jumbled to- 
gether and when all was over, it seemed to him as 
if everything after those words, “She’s cutting! 
The river’s cutting!” had happened in a dream. 

At the moment, all he realized was that he had 
come upon the crest of the advancing waters, and 
heralded their approach. He knew now that the 
river proper was far away and he saw that he had 
brought such consternation and terror into this 
quiet, unsuspecting home, that questions and ex- 
planations were impossible. 

But you, who see the conformation of the coun- 
try as it existed that night (though changing every 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3 2 3 


minute), can form some idea of the phenomenon 
which was taking place, and of which the voyagers 
had only the haziest knowledge. 

If the sharp, upper bend of the river had been 
amply revetted the increasing volume of water 
would have swept around the turn and the worst that 
would have happened would probably have been an 
overflow in the immediate neighborhood. But in- 
stead of that the insidious inroads of erosion had 
been at work, the river was taking a path of less 
resistance and plowing a new and shorter channel 
for itself which would soon engulf the house where 
Harry had stopped, blot Whitville off the map, and 
leave Jack Holden’s house beside an empty mud 
ditch ! 

The young fellow, after a few hasty words with 
the older man, during which the old woman wrung 
her hands piteously, went out, evidently bent on 
running to Whitville with the appalling news. The 
older man hurried toward the approaching waters. 

“Where do the Holdens live?” Harry asked of 
the old woman. " Tell me if you know, please.” 

He saw that he could be of no use where he was 
and he resolved to reach Jack’s if possible. He did 
not know just what was happening, except that 
there was evidently a flood, and that all the neigh- 
borhood was in imminent peril. He made out from 
her excited mumbling that Jack’s home was di- 
rectly east. A half a mile away, to the south, he 


3 2 4 


BOY SCOUTS 


could see the lights at Whitville, and relying on the 
scout compass which he always carried he started 
running due east. His way took him over low, 
level land with marshy patches here and there, and 
after running for fifteen or twenty minutes he be- 
came aware of black hills and between them glint- 
ing, faint glimpses of the river. He thought the 
marshy patches he had passed through must be the 
first waters of the rising flood, but he was mistaken. 
His confusion and excitement caused him to picture 
the whole locality rapidly inundating. 

Soon he came around the edge of a hill, almost 
stumbling upon a little cottage. A few yards away, 
over the tops of the levees, he could see as he came 
down the hill the river, quite plain now, and ap- 
parently flowing on dutifully and harmlessly. 

He gave the cottage door such a bang as it had 
probably never known before. A window was 
opened and a woman’s voice asked who was there. 

“ She’s cutting ! The river’s cutting ! ” he 
panted, unconsciously using the same phrase he had 
heard a few minutes before. “ Is this Holden's?” 

Just then the door flew open and Harry stag- 
gered in. A tall fellow with light hair stood hold- 
ing the door and gaping. 

a H’lo — Jack/’ Harry gasped. '‘Hurry up — - 
the river’s flooding — or something — • from the 
— bend — up there. Whitville’s in — danger!’’ 

Jack, amazement in every line of his face, came 
toward him. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3 2 5 


" Oh, it’s me, all right,” Harry panted. “ 1 
came on the — flood; I’ll tell you — later; Mr. 
Conne and Andy — I’ll — I’ll tell you — later — ” 
There was no time for talk and Jack’s astonish- 
ment at Harry’s arrival was drowned in his alarm 
at the dreadful news he brought. Yet to Jack, 
too (who had just been dreaming), the events of 
that night always seemed a part and parcel of his 
real dream ; a phantasmagoria where all was topsy- 
turvey and explanation superfluous. 

In a minute they were hurrying toward Whit- 
ville. There they joined a squad of men who were 
going northward with picks and shovels to rein- 
force others who had gone on the first alarm. The 
bell on the little church was peeling frantically. 
Every house was lighted and the whole village was 
astir. 1 The news seemed to have reached them 
that the flood was “ rattled,” which Jack said meant 
that the river was a little embarrassed to find a way 
in its newly-chosen path. 

Some of the people were loading household 
goods upon wagons. A few (there are always 
Philistines) decried and belittled the danger, boldly 
proclaiming that they intended to stay where they 
were. One old man was saying he knew the “ mis- 
sis ” would some day seek her former bed, from 

1 It must be remembered that in these phenomena known as 
cut-offs, the flood is usually not violent and overwhelming, the 
water, on the contrary, picking its way, as it were, gingerly, 
in its new and unmarked channel. 


326 


BOY SCOUTS 


which Harry inferred that she had once flowed this 
way before the birth of Whitville. Sleepy, half- 
dressed children were being brought forth, crying 
and bewildered. 

Harry and Jack followed the men northward and 
for a little way had a chance for explanation and 
more leisurely greetings. 

The little army of lantern-bearing villagers 
trudged on, a swarm of insect life surrounding each 
light, among which scores of mammoth maybugs 
banged themselves against glass and human forms, 
going the pace that kills, living out their brief and 
aimless careers and dropping by the wayside. 

After a little the advance guard of the approach- 
ing river was discernible in little marshy patches 
here and there and wandering, uncertain streams 
poking and insinuating this way and that like very 
scouts in truth, seeking out the best path for the 
swelling legion behind them to plow its way through. 

The object of the men was evidently not to at- 
tempt to restore to and hold the river in the bend, 
but simply by judicious digging and the throwing 
up of makeshift levees, to entice it out of the path 
to Whitville, while still its moderate volume made 
such a course feasible. 

“ And the gentle Mississippi won’t flow past your 
hom;e any more then, will it? ” Harry panted, quot- 
ing from Jack’s own letter. 

“ It’s the only thing they can do, old man, if it 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


327 


isn’t too late to do even that,” Jack answered as 
they hurried along. “ They — they must save the 
village.” 

“ Seems to me,” said Harry, " that a great big 
heartless monster like this river won’t let a hundred 
men or so tell her where to go! She’s too much 
for them.” 

“ She’s a coward,” said Jack, breathing heavily; 
“we know her! She’d back down at the sight of 
one little civil engineer. It’s — like wrestling — 
you’ve got to know where to grab her.” 

“ Are there any engineers in Whitville ? ” 

“Not a one; be good if Barney was here, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“ They can’t dig a channel big enough for this 
river,” Harry said, incredulously. 

“ No, but they can start it making a channel for 
itself. There’s a story about a child starting a cut- 
off on the Mississippi with a toy shovel. — How 
long’s this been going on ? ” 

“ Since before dark, I think,” said Harry. 

Soon they stood ankle-deep at a place where the 
upper part of a house could be seen in the water a 
few yards away. As they looked, a long, dusky 
shaft moved upward from the house, inscribed a 
great half circle in the air and descended slowly 
upon them. Instantly, they became luminous to 
each other. It moved away and threw its circle of 
light about the men near by. By its aid they could 


328 


BOY SCOUTS 


see that the water was all about them and Harry 
wondered where and how in this scene of inunda- 
tion and darkness when the familiar geography of 
the neighborhood was all askew, the men would set 
about their all but hopeless task. 

A voice came from the house and gazing intently 
toward it the boys could distinguish something bob- 
bing alongside. Then it dawned upon Harry that 
the light was Mr. Conne’s calcium. 

“ Fm going to swim out to them, Jack,” he said. 
“ Maybe they’ll have some news or some idea. I’ll 
be back.” 

“ I’m with you,” said Jack. 

But it was only for the last few feet of the way 
that they had to swim. They found the Slow Poke 
moored to the house where Harry had first called. 
Despite the grotesqueness and growing danger of 
the whole situation, he could not repress a certain 
feeling of amusement at thinking how all this would 
make a most novel and thrilling “ movie ” play, but 
for once Mr. Conne seemed to have no thought of 
the “ main chance.” 

Wesley was in the cabin poring over a map which 
had been brought from the house. The old woman, 
still wringing her hands, was in the Slow Poke. 
Her men folk had joined the workers. Bobby came 
into the little cabin where Harry and Jack stood, 
and where Wesley sat absorbed in his map. 

“ Do you know,” said Bobby, in an undertone, in- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


3 2 9 


dicating Wesley by an inclination of his head ; “ that 
takes me back a year and a half. He looks just as 
he did the day he showed me his East Hill scheme. 
It was the next morning the captain sent him up 
there.” 

He stepped across the little room and laid his 
hand familiarly on Wesley’s back with a suggestion 
of pride and affection which was not lost on the 
others. Over Wesley’s shoulder he, too, looked at 
the map, which was similar to the one shown here. 

“ What are they going to do? ” said Wesley, turn- 
ing to Harry. There was something in his manner 
which suggested a certain detachment from the 
others, as if he were sufficient unto himself. Yet it 
was not an air of assurance. Whatever it was, 
Harry answered quietly, almost as if he had been 
speaking with Captain Craig. 

“ I don’t know; the whole town is out.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ Where we just came from.” 

“ They can’t do anything between here and Whit- 
ville,” said Wesley soberly. 

“ They can’t do much anywhere else, I’m afraid,” 
said Jack. 

Wesley turned toward him as if he had not seen 
him before. “ Do you live in Whitville?” 

“ Near it.” 

“ Are there any engineers there ? ” 

“ They’d starve to death if there were,” said Jack 
in his offhand way. 


330 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Then you people will have to take my word for 
it. I’ve worked under Captain Craig — you Mis- 
sissippi people know him, I suppose. This is a fight, 
you know; that’s the way you have to think of it; 
that’s the way he always thinks of it. We can’t win 
out with brute power. There’s one thing he told me 
that I’ve never forgotten — when you’re fighting the 
most important thing is to cut off your enemy’s base 
of supplies. We’ve got to take the river where she 
isn’t looking. If you want to save Whitville and 
keep the stream in her course, you’ve got to make a 
flank move and attack her in the rear.” 

Mr. Conne came in and stood quietly by. His 
head was cocked sideways in that familiar listening 
way, but the whimsical expression was absent. He, 
too, seemed under the spell. As Harry looked at 
the little group, marooned as they were, with the 
enemy all about them, and at Wesley sitting there 
with a lead pencil poised in his hand, he felt a new 
respect for the profession and the training which 
enabled one to calmly plan out a way of still circum- 
venting the besieging foe. 

“ You see,” said Wesley, quietly, “ this is what 
should be done. Here’s a marshy patch. A little 
deflective start and the river will cut across that. 
Probably she’d plow a strip through it with a little 
clearing of the way and not use it all. But you can’t 
tell. Anyway, she won’t flood the south side of the 
bend because of the hills there. The current would 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


33i 


flow into the regular bed just east of these hills and 
it wouldn’t flood the south shore because of those 
other hills there. It’s a case of natural deflection, 
only they’ve got to take her and stick her nose into 
it like a kitten before she’ll get busy. Then she’ll 
flow right around the lower bend. It may result 
in cutting off the upper bend and maybe not — I 
don’t know. But if they can show her a way 
through that marsh and give her a start, that’s an 
end to the flooding north of Whitville. They’ll 
have to pump out their cellars, that’s about all. If 
they do what they’re starting to do now they won’t 
succeed, — a thousand men wouldn’t succeed. But 
this way, she’d be kept in the long bend and they’d 
save Whitville.” 

“ You think so? ” said Mr. Conne. 

“ I know so,” said Wesley. 

“ I believe it’s what the captain would do,” said 
Bobby. 

There was a moment’s silence. 

“ Trouble is,” said Wesley, throwing down his 
pencil with an air of disgust, “ we can’t make these 
people see it. I know what ought to be done,” he 
added, with a suggestion of his old sneer, “ it’s as 
plain as A B C. All I wanted was to get a squint 
at the lay of the land. The swamp is with us and 
the hills on both sides are with us — but how can / 
— I’ve no influence with those men ! ” Then with 
a touch of bitterness he added, “ I’m only L.H. 


332 


BOY SCOUTS 


You can’t expect any one to act on my tip. Those 
men would laugh at me! ” 

There was another silence. 

“ Andy,” said Mr. Conne, in his crisp, business- 
like tone, “ suppose you dump the row-boat in the 
water and one of you boys can row me over to where 
those lanterns are and I’ll have a little heart-to-heart 
talk with the men. Give me that map, Wesley.” 

It was Bobby who literally snatched the sheet 
from his friend, and as he handed it over Harry 
looked at Mr. Conne and laughed outright. No 
doubt if that laugh could have been put in words it 
would have expressed this thought ; that knowledge 
of how to persuade and convince and influence men 
is after all quite as splendid and important as the 
ability to checkmate and circumvent a great river ! 


CHAPTER XXVI 


WESTWARD HO 

I suppose it is needless to remind you that a scout 
always keeps his word, and when Gordon Lord, 
Beaver Patrol, ist Troop, Oak wood, N. J., told 
Harry that he would meet him in the West, he 
meant exactly what he said, neither less nor more. 

On the day that Harry left Oakwood for Wash- 
ington several of the troop went into the city to see 
him off. Conspicuous among these were Brick 
Parks, Roy Carpenter and Gordon himself ; and to 
this enterprising trio, of which Gordon was the mov- 
ing spirit, must be attributed the organization, 
financing and successful carrying forward of the 
Busy Beavers Amalgamated, Consolidated West- 
ward-Ho Syndicate, which had its origin that very 
day. 

The name of the concern originated exclusively 
with Gordon, and though it was long it might have 
been a good deal longer. He debated much as to 
whether to use the word, Company, Association or 
Syndicate, and he chose Syndicate because it had a 
commercial and financial sound which he liked. He 
could not decide between the words, Amalgamated 
333 


334 


BOY SCOUTS 


and Consolidated, so he used them both. He came 
very near using the word, United, also, but couldn’t 
find another n among his type so omitted it ; and the 
abbreviation, Inc., was omitted for the same reason. 
He always regretted that he had left out the word, 
Limited. The original idea was Busy Beavers 
Amalgamated, Consolidated Westward-Ho Com- 
pany and Syndicate, Inc., and Limited. 

It is at the brief history of this flourishing insti- 
tution that we must now take a hasty glimpse. 

The sole purpose of the organization, as set forth 
by Gordon, was by some hook or crook to enable 
the entire troop of Oakwood scouts to accompany 
him as far west as St. Louis and there fulfill his 
promise of joining Harry on his return from the 
upper Missouri. 

How this was to be accomplished the three boys 
had not the faintest idea, but as Gordon said, the 
first thing was to organize, so organize they did, 
trusting to his versatile brain to “ find a way.” 

The very next day a deputation of scouts, headed 
by Gordon himself, waited upon Mr. Danforth 
(railroad magnate, patron of the Oakwood scouts 
and admirer of Harry Arnold) at his big house on 
the hill and pleaded their cause so well that Mr. 
Danforth agreed to turn over to them an old freight 
car which they might fit up as traveling headquar- 
ters and to “ use his influence ” to have it attached 
to trains moving west. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


335 


Next the committee made for the office of Dr. 
Brent, their scoutmaster, and extorted from him a 
promise to accompany the expedition. (Gordon 
said the doctor needed a vacation anyway.) 

So with the means of conveyance already pro- 
vided and the doctor's promise to “ chaperon ” 
the party, what could the parents of the boys do 
but consent, and there was the enterprise well 
launched within twenty-four hours of its concep- 
tion! 

Large undertakings like that of the Busy Beavers 
Amalgamated, Consolidated Westward-Ho Syndi- 
cate are necessarily subject to delays. For in- 
stance it took time to locate and ship to Oakwood 
a freight car which would make a suitable traveling 
camp. It took time also for the printing and mar- 
keting of an issue of stock in order to raise funds 
for the necessary alterations and fitting up of the 
car for the long overland trip. 

There was much to be done on it. Indeed to 
any one except the energetic scouts it might have 
appeared almost hopeless on first inspection. But 
the boys could do most of the work themselves and 
it only remained to purchase the necessary material 
and supplies. 

When Mr. Danforth heard of the stock issue, he 
not only subscribed for a large block of stock but 
sent to the treasurer besides a liberal check with 
the message that if anything was left after the out- 


336 


BOY SCOUTS 


fitting of the car, the boys should divide it among 
themselves. (Hence the eleven-cent dividend which 
Harry Arnold received at Long Gulch.) 

Many months were consumed in the renovation 
of the car, which included the painting in large 
white letters along its sides of the name, west- 
ward ho. When at last it was ready for the 
trip it presented quite a sumptuous appearance. 
Bunks were arranged for sleeping quarters, which 
some of the girls had furnished with embroidered 
cushions in order that the place might seem home- 
like. An old stove from the laundry of Brick 
Parks’ home, a rough dining-board, and various 
dishes and camping paraphernalia, were installed, 
and two windows placed in each side of the car for 
light and ventilation. 

The plan was to proceed leisurely west stopping 
by the way whenever the spirit moved. As it 
turned out, they stopped many times when the spirit 
didn’t move as well, and if I were to tell you of the 
many ludicrous incidents of the trip ; the times they 
found themselves marooned on lonely sidings by 
reason of broken couplings or through the stupidity 
of wayside station agents ; the many interesting side 
trips which they took, sometimes of their own ac- 
cord and sometimes through misunderstandings 
with the railroad officials, I should have no space 
left to tell of the extraordinary things which hap- 
pened after they finally reached the Mississippi. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


337 


There was the time, for instance, when they woke 
one morning to find themselves attached to a cattle 
train and headed straight for the Chicago stock- 
yards. 

“ Here we go, all ready for the sausage bags ! ” 
cried Howard Brent, amid much laughter and 
joking, when the mistake was discovered. 

“ I go in a Boy Scout, IT1 come out extract of 
beef ! ” said Pierce. 

“ In nice little cubes, all wrapped up in tinfoil, 1 ” 
added another. 

Gordon was appointed special troop historian for 
the trip and their many exciting experiences are all 
faithfully set forth in the ponderous tome in which 
he recorded in most minute detail the events of 
those few months. It may be that I can some day 
get him to tell you the story in his own picturesque 
fashion. 

At St. Louis the party joined forces with the Mock 
Turtles, that renowned patrol of western scouts to 
which Gordon’s cousins, Will and Joe Howell, be- 
longed. According to Gordon’s schedule, there 
would be several weeks to spare before Harry was 
due to reach St. Louis on his way back from the 
Far West, and he now conceived the novel idea of 
removing the trucks of the Westward Ho and 
placing the body of the car on a huge float which 
would enable the two troops to fill in the time before 
Harry’s arrival by taking a trip down the river in 


33§ 


BOY SCOUTS 


true Mississippi fashion as far as Whitville and 
there calling at the home of the Holdens, where 
Gordon had stopped overnight on his previous jour- 
ney down the great river. 

To this plan his cousins enthusiastically agreed 
and of course the other boys “ fell in line ” as soon 
as the scheme was laid before them. 

So under the supervision of Dr. Brent and Mr. 
Howell (whose scientific mind was rather shocked 
at the proceeding) the Westward Ho was con- 
verted into one of the most unique shanty-boats on 
the river, and the Amalgamated Scouts, as Gordon 
insisted upon calling them, started on their leisurely 
journey downstream. 

The Westward Ho, of course, was not equipped 
with any sort of power, but following the usual 
custom of Mississippi shanty-boats, drifted south- 
ward with the current, its course being guided some- 
what by means of sweeps, or long oars, and relied 
upon being towed back up the river by some steam- 
boat upon the payment of a small fee. 

The first stop they made was at the little village 
of Ste. Genevieve, about fifty miles below St. Louis. 
Pierce and two of the other boys went ashore for 
fresh provisions, and when they returned they 
brought with them a copy of a handbill which was 
being circulated about the docks. You have only 
to read for yourself to imagine what excitement 
this created among the boys. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


339 


$500.00 REWARD 

For information leading to the arrest and 
conviction of one Thomas (alias “ Crow- 
bar”) Slade and five companions. 

Bert (alias “Dink”) Carpenter 
Joseph Flynn (Alias “ Switch Joe ”) 
Fred (alias “Westy”) Rinckell 
Donald McCarthy 
“Yeggy” Butler 

All fugitives from justice and under indict- 
ment in Adams County, Illinois, for high- 
way robbery in derailing and robbing Ex- 
press Train No. 24, on Wabash Road. 

Thought to have gone down Mississippi 
from Quincy in a shanty-boat. 


The circular also showed pictures of four of the 
men who were ex-convicts. 

For the next two days Gordon scarcely ate or 
slept, but divided his time between eagerly scanning 
all the floating craft which they passed or which 
passed them, and studying the pictures of the rob- 
bers, so as to have their features firmly impressed 
upon his mind in case they should fall in with any 
suspicious characters. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI 

At last one day the Westward Ho passed a little 
settlement of several houses on the Missouri shore, 
but could not approach it on account of the marsh- 
land between the river and the levee. They re- 
gretted this because Gordon's vaunted knowledge 
of the locality of Jack Holden’s home had suffered 
some embarrassment in the last day or two and 
they had hoped to make inquiries. 

It must be confessed that Gordon’s anxiety to 
revisit the hospitable Holden cottage, though still 
keen, had experienced a temporary eclipse in his 
wish to apprehend the band of train-robbers. Nor 
was it the five hundred dollars’ reward that he 
cared about. Not he. It was the glory of over- 
taking a fleeing criminal and bringing him to jus- 
tice. He had even forgotten La Salle in his new 
role of sleuth. 

“ There’s one thing sure,” he said ; “ they can’t 
take their boat off the river.” 

“ They might forsake it,” ventured Dr. Brent. 

" Cracky, I hope we can find them ! ” said Gor^ 
340 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


34i 

don. “ If they were just plain ordinary burglars, 
that wouldn’t be so good — ” 

“ No, it would be very bad,” said Brick Parks. 

“ But train-robbers ! ” said Gordon, ignoring him. 
“You don’t run across train-robbers every day!” 

“ Thank goodness for that ! ” said the doctor. 

“ It looks as if we’re not going to run across 
them any day,” added Til Morrell. 

“What’s the idea if we do find them?” asked 
Roy Carpenter. “Get them to join the Scouts?” 

“ You make me tired! ” said Gordon. 

“ We couldn’t exactly arrest them, could — ” 

“ We could shadow them, couldn’t we? ” Gordon 
shouted in high disgust. “ Do you mean to tell me 
that catching (anyway, you ought to say appre- 
hending — that shows how much you know about 
such things!) — Do you mean to tell me that ap- 
prehending is as good as shadowing? Aren’t you 
always supposed to shadow for a long time before 
you ca — apprehend? Sure you are! Did you 
ever read The Black Ranger ? Well, he was shad- 
owed for years — ” 

“About how far should we shadow them?” 
asked Dr. Brent. 

“As far as Helena or Vicksburg — or some 
place. And we’d have to make sure they were the 
robbers. Then we’d hand them over.” 

Dr. Brent pursed his lips. “ Hmmm,” said he ; 
“ much as I should like to shadow a band of train- 


342 


BOY SCOUTS 


robbers, I believe the best thing for us to do will be 
to stop at the home of your soldier friend when 
we get there. I have no doubt the authorities down 
below have been apprised of these ruffians — ” 

“ They aren’t ruffians” Gordon interrupted de- 
fensively. 

“ You could hardly call them gentlemen — ” 

“ No, but they’re not just plain ruffians,” in- 
sisted Gordon ; “ they’re train-robbers ! ” 

“ I’ll try not to insult them again,” said Dr. 
Brent. “ I suppose it’s permissible to call them 
scoundrels ? ” 

“ You can’t call them Sunday School teachers,” 
said Brick. 

“ How about outlaws ? ” suggested Roy. 

“ Outlaws is all right,” said Gordon, “ or — or 
— highwaymen; but outlaws is better, I guess.” 

“ I’m afraid,” said Dr. Brent ruefully, “ that our 
fleeing outlaws are well past your friend’s home 
by this time. I think it would be imprudent to 
pursue our quest — er — that is, our shadowing — 
further; notwithstanding the good example of 
those who trailed the Black Ranger. We must not 
go too far south if we wish to be in the neighbor- 
hood of St. Louis when Harry comes marching in 
from Montana.” 

This argument was effectual with Gordon, as the 
doctor knew it would be. For a moment he stood, 
as it were, irresolute between two loves, Harry to 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


343 


the north and the train-robbers to the south; and 
his anxiety to run no chance of missing his friend 
triumphed. 

But all through the following day he kept an 
eye out for any boat which might belong to the 
fugitives, and as the Westward Ho approached the 
bend which was familiar to him, his elation at the 
proximity to Jack’s home was considerably modi- 
fied by the thought of abandoning his quest of the 
train-robbers. 

But soon other matters engrossed his thoughts. 
If you are a scout, you must know that it is a 
scout’s habit to scrutinize localities, to remember 
landmarks, and to bear in mind all he sees. If he 
be a good scout (and Gordon was all of that with 
a considerable surplus) he will practice this habit 
until it becomes second nature, and a neighborhood 
once passed, a tree once seen, a river once crossed, 
a hill once climbed, is registered in the scout mind 
as familiar territory. A scout is so far from being 
frightened out of his seven senses that they are 
usually his obedient slaves. Then, too, certain 
incidents had fixed this particular locality indelibly 
in Gordon’s mind. 

Hence when the Westward Ho came along that 
stretch of river just above the sharp, upper bend, 
Gordon saw something which he had not noticed 
on his former memorable trip, and the Howell boys, 
who had been of the party then, were equally sur- 
prised. 


344 


BOY SCOUTS 


It is probable that if these boys had not been 
scouts they would have passed along without no- 
ticing the channel across the marsh, for to an un- 
practiced eye such things are much more discern- 
ible on a map than on a wide expanse of actual 
territory, where size and distance are apt to em- 
barrass one’s vision, and only one detail can be 
seen at once. But the scout is accustomed to look 
large, as one might say ; and sailing down the Ken- 
tucky side of the river, the three who had once 
before passed here were rather astonished to notice 
that most of the water took a sharp cut through a 
straight but wide and ragged channel directly 
southward. Along the reach which formed the 
old bend to the west the water still flowed, but was 
so low that the ragged, eroded, perpendicular 
banks were visible, with muskrat holes plain to 
view all along. It looked like the river at home at 
low tide. 

As they had no power against the current, they 
could not proceed along the reduced river by the 
old route with any hope of returning in case the 
way were not clear, and it became a question what 
to do. 

“ I have an idea,” said Gordon, “ that this is just 
a short-cut across the bend.” 

Dr. Brent nodded. “ Very likely,” said he, “ if 
you’re sure the river bends east again. I should 
say that is just what has happened; she’s cut her 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 345 

trail. This way seems to be perfectly safe and no 
doubt it’s shorter.” 

They were, in fact, at the head or inlet of the 
new channel which Wesley Bin ford had suggested 
making. It was not recognizable as artificial and 
formed now more of a lake than a channel, as the 
spreading river flowed apparently unrestricted 
through the area of marshland. No excavation of 
any kind could be seen. Yet it is true that there 
in that spongy lowland, a few picks and shovels, 
guided and directed by one boy's brain, had beck- 
oned the mighty river out of her path of destruc- 
tion and she had followed as a monstrous elephant 
follows its tiny, insignificant keeper. 

It was dusk when they floated into this open way 
and they soon saw hills looming in the gathering 
darkness directly before them. 

“ Guess we’re in a blind alley after all,” said 
the doctor. 

“ Don’t be too sure of it,” said Will Howell, “ it 
may be the Missouri shore of the regular channel. 
If we come into the old river channel at right an- 
gles the opposite shore would seem to cross our 
path — wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ Listen to the high-brow ! ” said his brother. 

“ Whatever it is,” said the doctor, “ we shall 
have to go ahead, for the very good and sufficient 
reason that we can’t do anything else.” 

So they went ahead and presently passing the 


346 


BOY SCOUTS 


end of a line of hills, they found that the river 
crossed their path indeed with a group of hills di- 
rectly opposite. 

“ This old river came pretty near to knowing 
where to make the jump, didn’t she?” said Joe 
Howell. 

“ Who’s the high-brow now ? ” asked his brother. 
“ I don’t quite get you, Brother William. I’m 
from Missouri ; please show me.” 

“ It seems to me,” said the doctor, laughing, 
“ that the river herself is the high-brow. She cut 
across just where that group of hills would stop 
her when she hit into the old channel. Otherwise 
she’d have jumped her bank over yonder and 
maybe flooded the country below.” 

But the doctor was mistaken. It was no credit 
to the old river that the hills deflected her and that 
she flowed still around the old lower bend. It was 
no credit to the heedless river that the little Holden 
cottage, just below, still nestled along her shore. 
It was no credit to the treacherous river that the 
village of Whitville stood where it had always 
stood, with nothing but a few flooded cellars to be 
pumped out. The old river is no “ high-brow.” 
Indeed she seems, at times, but a great heartless 
brute, with death and misery and disaster to an- 
swer for. 

The “ high-brow ” who was responsible for all 
this was at that very minute trudging through mud 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


347 


and swamp in the darkness not a quarter of a mile 
away, limping as he made his way, soaked, dirty 
and exhausted, to the rest which he had not known 
in three days. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE “ TRAIN ROBBERS ” 

As the Westward Ho floated majestically into 
the old river channel, her company noticed a small 
light flickering across the waters. There was a 
strong cross-current here owing to the entry of this 
channel from the north, and our friends found it 
easy with the aid of their sweeps to guide the un- 
ruly Westward Ho across to the Missouri shore. 
Here the river, owing to this impetuous cross-cur- 
rent, had overflowed to the base of the hills, then 
turned southeast in perfect accordance with the 
programme arranged for her. But the party could 
not see this because of the darkness. They be- 
lieved that having made a short cut across the 
upper bend, they were again in the old river, and 
as we know, they were correct in this supposition. 
They had no idea of what had taken place here, of 
the struggle between the “ Old Lady ” and human 
skill and knowledge, but were content to amble 
on keeping a weather eye out for the lights which 
should indicate the Holden cottage. 

They had crossed here in hope that the light 
they saw might be in Jack’s home, particularly as 
348 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


349 

Gordon remembered the cottage to be at the foot 
of the hills. 

But in this they were destined to disappointment. 
The light, as they presently saw, came from a 
shanty-boat and they were within twenty feet of it 
before they realized this. 

“ I think,” said Dr. Brent, looking rather timidly 
at Gordon, “ that this encounter is rather provi- 
dential. It — it enables us to — the fact is I have 
a feeling of being lost. I know that we are on the 
water; I presume we are on the Mississippi; I am 
willing to believe that we are approaching the 
‘ lower bend/ My faith is unbounded, but a vague 
fear haunts me that we may unwittingly have 
crossed the Gulf of Mexico, that the channel we 
came through is one arm of the delta, that the 
cluster of houses we passed this afternoon was a 
suburb of New Orleans — and that — that — ” 

“ That it would be just too provoking for any- 
thing if we woke up and found ourselves in the 
English Channel,” finished Parks. 

“ It would,” agreed the doctor. 

“Well?” said Gordon, ominously. 

“ I am aware that scouts scorn to ask a direc- 
tion,” said the doctor, feeling his way cautiously. 
“ Yet it is a fact that no less a scout than William 
F. Cody asked a New York policeman to direct 
him to East Twenty-seventh Street.” 

“ What ? ” exclaimed Gordon. 


350 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ It is a fact/’ triumphed the doctor, “ and Gen- 
eral Sir Baden-Powell and Ernest Thompson- 
Seton 1 were — ” 

“ Lost in Central Park,” put in Brick Parks. 

Gordon stared incredulously. 

“ The Scout organization tried to keep it quiet,” 
said Roy innocently, “ but such things always leak 
out.” 

“ Is it true,” asked Will Howell, “ that they tried 
to find their way out by getting on the merry-go- 
round ? ” 

“Go on!” said Gordon. “You make me 
tired!” 

“Moreover,” said the doctor, soothingly; “it is 
not scoutish to run a chance of circumnavigating 
the globe simply because we are too proud to in- 
quire where we are at. The soft curtain of night 
has got me somewhat rattled.” 

“ A scout doesn’t inquire where he is at,” said 
Gordon. 

“ He does if he doesn’t know,” urged the doctor. 
“ When you don’t know, the next best thing is to 
know that you don’t know.” 

“ We’re not on Twenty-seventh Street,” said 
Gordon, contemptuously. 

“ I wish we were,” said the doctor. 

“We could take a Broadway car and transfer at 
Twenty-third,” said Til Morrell. 

1 Chief Scout 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


35 1 

Gordon looked at him in utter disgust. “ Don’t 
talk about transferring,” he shouted. “ Is that the 
way a scout talks? Do you mean to tell me you’d 
ride four blocks ? ” 

The doctor winked meaningly at his assistant, 
Roy. “ Besides,” said he, “ but no matter.” 

“ What? ” said Til. 

“ I was just going to say,” said the doctor, “ that 
perhaps, for all we know, that may be the very boat 
of the train-robbers. But no matter, we will laugh 
at the darkness and sail on, and on, and on — like 
Columbus in the poem.” 

There was a pause. 

“ I — I was just going to — A good scout al- 
ways listens to advice,” said Gordon. 

“ My advice,” said the doctor, secretly trium- 
phant, “ is that we sail on.” 

“We — we’d better make sure where we’re at,” 
said Gordon. 

“ Very well,” said Dr. Brent, repressing a 
smile. “ I wish it recorded in the Westward Ho’s 
log book by the troop historian that the scoutmaster 
was for proceeding down the river ; was for finding 
a way, to use a phrase which one of our number 
has made familiar; and that G. Lord, of the Beaver 
Patrol, insisted on inquiring of strangers where we 
were at.” 

It was the mention of the train-robbers that in- 
duced Gordon to so much as approach this strange 


352 


BOY SCOUTS 


neighboring boat, and Dr. Brent believed that he 
had handled the young Beaver with such diplomatic 
skill that he would presently return with informa- 
tion as to where they were. He had himself no 
suspicion of robbers, and he was presently to ex- 
perience one of the greatest surprises of his in- 
teresting and varied career as scoutmaster. Yet 
he might have known that surprises and adventures 
ever lurked in the path of G. Lord, and that the 
mere wink of an eye, where that redoubtable 
youngster was concerned, might have startling de- 
velopments. 

It was agreed that Gordon and Roy should land 
and follow along the shore to a point where the 
other boat lay, almost entirely concealed by the 
darkness, save for its small light. After satisfy- 
ing themselves that its occupants were not the 
fugitives, they were to descend to the less romantic 
business of making inquiries. 

On approaching the strange boat they found it 
to be rather stranger than the general run of 
Mississippi craft, but Gordon was too much a vet- 
eran in Mississippi travel to be surprised at any 
craft, however freakish, and his curiosity centered 
on the light which emanated from its window. He 
preferred to believe that he was on the track of the 
miscreants, and he induced Roy to approach the 
window surreptitiously instead of knocking at the 
door. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


353 


“ Shh,” said he, as they tiptoed across the plat- 
form deck. “ They may be dividing their booty — 
sh-h-h-h.” 

Roy stepped on a loose plank which made a 
sound like a thunderbolt in the tense stillness, caus- 
ing Gordon to emit another warning, “ Sh-h-h-h.” 

Cautiously they approached the window and 
looked in. The small room, or cabin, was in great 
disorder, but no human being was to be seen. On 
a rough kitchen chair lay a raveled and dirty 
sweater; a peaked cap was on the floor; on a pair 
of boards which evidently did service for a table 
was a pistol, a jimmie and a small black mask. On 
the floor was a large metal box. Near it on a rough 
bench lay a dark lantern and a pair of pistols in a 
leather case. Clothing of every variety and in 
every stage of wear was strewn about the place. 
A small crowbar stood in one corner and its ap- 
palling significance was heightened by a black mask 
on the top of it. 

The sight of this ominous paraphernalia held 
the boys silent and their first move was to glance 
furtively shoreward to see if any one was near. 
Then Gordon spoke, in a fearful and awestruck 
whisper. 

“That crowbar is to pry up railroad tracks.” 

“ Look at all the clothes,” whispered Roy; “ they 
must have robbed a train at night and taken all the 
passengers* clothing while they were in their 
berths.” 


354 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Cracky ! ” breathed Gordon. “ Let’s get out 
of here before any one comes! Didn’t I say it 
might be the robbers ? ” 

“ No,” whispered Roy, as they tiptoed fear- 
somely ashore ; “ Dr. Brent did.” 

“ He wanted to sail on ! ” said Gordon. 
“ There’s five hundred dollars’ reward coming to 
us ! Suppose we’d been caught there ! ” 

“ Catch me making any inquiries in that den,” 
said Roy, a trifle relieved to be ashore. 

His relief was but momentary, for at that very 
minute Gordon clasped his arm in terror and whis- 
pered, “Look — look — coming down that path! 
Shall we run ? ” 

Several figures silhouetted against the horizon 
were coming down single file, and silent, toward 
the boat. There was no chance to run, whatever 
they might have chosen to do and moreover it is 
the scout habit to observe, to learn all there is to 
learn. A scout knows also how to move silently, 
and as the sinister procession approached, the boys 
lowered themselves amid the tall swamp grass and 
waited. 

“ Can you see their faces? ” Roy whispered. 

“ Sh-h-h,” said Gordon. “ No, their hats are all 
pulled down. Don’t move — they’re going right 
past!” 

“ Gee, but they’re a tough-looking crowd,” 
breathed Roy. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


355 


Then suddenly, the face of the last one, as he 
stepped aboard and into the faint light from the 
cabin lamp, became visible, and Gordon could 
hardly credit his eyes for what he beheld. 

“ Did you see him, Roy? ” he whispered breath- 
lessly. “ Cracky, it’s terrible ! Look ! Do you 
see him — the last one?” 

“ Yes, I saw him,” gasped Roy. “ Gee, but he 
looked awful! Don't talk. Creep along — and 
let's get back ! ” 

They crawled a short distance under the swamp 
grass, then rose and ran pell-mell for their own 
boat, both experiencing a great sense of relief when 
they reached it. Gordon stumbled against Dr. 
Brent and in his agitation held him for a second, 
frantically. 

“ It is — it is ! ” he cried. “ It's the robbers — 
we saw inside their boat — there's dark lanterns — 
and jimmies — and — and all sorts of things they 
stole — and pistols — and they nearly caught us as 
they came down — and we saw the last one — doc- 
tor — and it's — it’s Wesley Binford! And he 
looks awful, doctor! He's alive, just as Harry 
said he was — and he's — he’s gone from bad to 
worse! " 


CHAPTER XXIX 


GORDON DECIDES NOT TO CLAIM THE REWARD 

In the troop Gordon had somewhat the reputa- 
tion of an alarmist, and many good stories were 
told at his expense. His sense of observation was 
so acute and his love of adventure so keen that he 
frequently accommodated the one to the other, with 
the result that the most matter-of-fact occurrences 
became fraught with the most romantic significance. 
If he saw a man digging a hole for a telegraph- 
pole, it was easy to imagine him secreting buried 
treasure. But he was nothing if not truthful, and 
his breathless report to Dr. Brent caused the scout- 
master to look sober and thoughtful. 

The possibility of really finding the robbers had 
been more or less a joke with the doctor on their 
trip down the river, but what could he say now? 
There was no discrepancy between what Roy and 
Gordon said, and respectable persons do not travel 
with pistols and jimmies and dark lanterns and 
masks. These indubitable signs of criminality left 
but one theory plausible. They must actually have 
stumbled upon the band of ruffians escaping from 
the north. The discovery of Wesley Binford 
356 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


357 

among them clouded whatever gratification the boys 
felt, however, and made them sick at heart. 

“ What shall we do?” said Til Morrell. 

“ Stay here till they move on,” said the doctor ; 
“ then move on ourselves. We can’t overpower 
and arrest them. We had better put out our light 
and lie low. Let us moderate our voices. At the 
first village I will notify the authorities or wire to 
St. Louis — also to Memphis and Helena.” 

“ And Wesley?” Roy asked. 

The doctor shook his head soberly. “ I don’t 
know,” said he ; “ if he is implicated — I don’t 
know,” he broke off, “ whether there would be any 
use in my seeing him. Reform isn’t likely beyond 
a certain point. I hardly know what to do or say. 
We will try to follow them and let developments 
determine our course. Have they power on their 
boat?” 

“ A little dinky kicker,” said Roy. “ They ought 
to be arrested for cruelty to engines.” 

In a sense Wesley Binford spoiled it all, for the 
adventurous pleasure of trailing fugitives was en- 
tirely negatived by the knowledge of his presence 
among them. A certain atmosphere of soberness 
pervaded the party and even Gordon’s volubility 
was stilled by his proximity to crime and to a crim- 
inal — yes, a criminal — whom he had actually 
known away home in Oakwood. 

He thought of that day when he had stood with 


358 


BOY SCOUTS 


the other boys by the river and Harry had dived 
for Wesley’s body. What would Harry say to 
this? 

“ I don’t want to see him, doctor,” he said 
frankly. “ I — I don’t mean because I wouldn’t 
speak to him or anything like that, but it would 
kind of make me think of how he used to be — in 
Oakwood — when I used to see him going down 
Main Street. — He used to take my hat off and 
hand it to me as he went by — and it always made 
me mad ! — But I wish it was the same now and 
he was doing it just as he did.” 

If Gordon had given a lecture on Wesley it could 
not have recalled him more vividly to the other 
boys. It always made the small boys mad when 
Wesley did that, yet he would often follow it up 
by putting his arm over the victim’s shoulder and 
walking with him a ways, quite in a manly fash- 
ion; and the small boy invariably felt flattered at 
his attention. 

“ Once he bought me a soda,” said Gordon. 

“ He was a queer boy,” ruminated the doctor, 
sadly. “ Sometimes I think no one understood him 
— ever really got to him — not even his own 
father. Possibly his mother did — his own mother. 
I think Harry got as near to him as any one. A 
little start in the right direction and he might have 
done wonders. I sometimes fancied he had an un- 
usual brain, if one could only get at it.” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


359 


As if by common consent they abandoned the 
subject, yet the knowledge of Wesley’s proximity in 
such company cast a certain gloom over the party. 

After half an hour or so the light moved and 
the Westward Ho’s company saw their lumbering 
neighbor moving, a half tangible bulk through the 
darkness. A sharp, unmuffled chugging told that 
they were starting downstream. This and their 
moving light, its feeble ray glinting the water 
slightly, were the only evidences that they were 
preceded by another craft. 

After a while the light suddenly disappeared. 
Fifteen minutes later, the Westward Ho discov- 
ered the strange craft moored in a little cove. Not 
more than a hundred feet distant was a house. No 
light was to be seen within it but its outline was 
clear. The Westward Ho extinguished her light 
and made shore quietly a safe distance below. 

“ They may have just tied up for the night to 
sleep,” said Brick Parks. 

“ It’s rather odd,” said the doctor, “ that such 
a crowd as that should tie up so close to a house.” 

“ What are we going to do ? ” Roy asked. 

“ I think we will do a little scouting,” Dr. Brent 
answered; “ if they have tied up to sleep, well and 
good. We can drift on down to the next village 
and notify the authorities there. If they are up 
to any mischief it would be well to know it. Til, 
suppose you make a sort of reconnoissance over 
there.” 


3 6 ° 


BOY SCOUTS 


Til ford Morrell held the stalker’s badge in the 
troop. Brick Parks said of him that he could ap- 
proach a deer and the deer would never be any the 
wiser until he pulled its tail. Be this as it might, 
he had various scout “ stunts ” to his credit, and 
it is a matter of troop record that when they were 
camping in the Adirondacks he took down the 
Beavers’ tent from over their very heads while 
they lay asleep, and they found it rolled up in the 
Hawks’ shelter in the morning. Twigs never 
crackled under Tilford’s feet; doors never creaked 
when he opened them; the whole world, both in- 
doors and out, seemed to be carpeted with India 
rubber. Part way up the wide, uncarpeted stair- 
case of Harry Arnold’s home, was a step which 
signaled the approach of any ascending form. But 
Til ford could place both feet on it and it would 
remain silent. His every movement seemed to be 
muffled. He had cultivated stalking and shadow- 
ing to such a degree that there was something 
hardly less than uncanny in his comings and go- 
ings. 

It was this boy, somewhat older than the rest, 
whom Dr. Brent selected to investigate their sin- 
ister neighbors. 

Til had approached to within a few yards of the 
strange craft when he caught the sound of low 
voices and of the closing of a door. Instantly, he 
stepped behind a tree so dexterously and stealthily 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


36 1 

that he seemed to have merged himself in it. 
Scarcely had he done so when six figures came 
ashore and started toward the house. He thought 
he heard one of them say, “ all asleep by this 
time.” 

Til shadowed them at a safe distance until they 
reached the darkened house. Then they all moved 
out on the small lawn, looked up at the windows 
and seemed to consult together. Presently two 
went around behind the house and then one of them 
reappeared and beckoned to the others. Til ad- 
vanced stealthily around the other side of the house 
just in time to see the first one enter through an 
open window. 

This was quite enough, and he hastened back 
and reported what he had seen. 

Dr. Brent’s manner was determined. Appar- 
ently he had no difficulty in deciding upon his 
course. There was something about his prompt 
decisiveness which quite inspired the boys and in- 
creased their respect for him, if that were possible. 
He was the only man among them, yet he hesitated 
not a minute. 

“ What am I going to do?” he said tersely in 
answer to a question from Roy. “ I don’t know, 
but I am certainly not going to allow a gang of 
ruffians to rifle a house under my very eyes — not 
if I can prevent it! ” 

They saw he was in no mood for talking and 


362 


BOY SCOUTS 


watched him in awed silence as he opened a duffel 
bag, removed a tin box and from it took a revolver. 

“ You’re not going alone, doctor?” Roy asked. 

“ I’m not going to require any one to go with 
me — but those who wish to, may. Gordon and 
Howard had better remain behind.” 

But Gordon and Howard, who were the two 
youngest of the party, thought differently and con- 
cluded that tagging behind was just as good as 
remaining behind. 

“ Those of you who wish to come along bring 
your rifles. Tilford, you take this extra revolver; 
stay close by me, and do exactly as I tell you, 
neither less nor more. See if you know the scout 
rule of precise obedience. All of you depend en- 
tirely upon my judgment and don’t get rattled. 
You understand that, all of you? This will put 
some of your training to the test,” he added grimly. 

They were not afraid, for courage is a quality 
of all scouts and they had implicit faith in their 
scoutmaster, whose own demeanor inspired them 
all. But there was a tenseness among them which 
precluded conversation as they went along. 

“ Suppose,” whispered Gordon to Howard Brent, 
“ suppose he should be shot down.” 

He meant Wesley, but Howard thought he meant 
the scoutmaster. I dare say more than one of them 
was affected by the consciousness that they were 
approaching, armed, to one who had been their own 
schoolmate. 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


363 


Reaching the house, they saw a light behind the 
lowered shades of what they thought was the 
kitchen. The doctor quietly disposed his little 
band in such a way that every one would have an 
advantage save himself. Roy and Brick Parks 
were stationed in the shadow outside the back door. 
A scout was placed at each window with instruc- 
tions to break it if he heard a certain call from 
within, to aim carefully and fire. 

“ I believe,” the doctor said, “ that the first thing 
they would do on entering through a window would 
be to unlatch the doors from within so as to have 
an easy get-away. It may enable us to take them 
unawares. Tilford, you come with me, stay di- 
rectly behind me and do nothing which I do not 
tell you to do.” 

The boys could hardly gulp down their nervous- 
ness and conquer the darkest apprehensions as they 
saw their beloved and intrepid scoutmaster place 
his hand softly on the front door knob. He held 
two pistols and Tilford held one. They paused for 
a moment, the doctor’s hand still on the knob, then 
the door opened and they stepped silently within. 

They found themselves in a little hall, with a 
door leading from it to a small sitting-room, be- 
yond which was a lighted room whence came low 
voices. 

The doctor walked silently through the sitting- 
room, stooped, peered through the keyhole, then to 


364 


BOY SCOUTS 


Til ford’s utter astonishment straightened up and 
with entire disregard of scoutish precautions, ob- 
served, “This is a most extraordinary thing!” 

With this he opened the door and stepped in, 
and Tilford’s eyes, as he followed him, stared with 
a blank and bewildered stare which no band of rob- 
bers could possibly have inspired. 

At the head of a dining-table sat a man whom 
neither the doctor nor Til knew. He was carving 
a cold ham, and at their entrance he glanced com- 
placently at them and observed in a matter-of-fact 
way, “ How’d do — nice evening.” 

To his right sat Harry Arnold, weary-looking 
and dirty; next to him sat Wesley Binford, and 
filling the rest of the table three young men whom 
the doctor and Tilford did not know. The entire 
party looked as if they had wallowed in mud for 
several days. 

“ Well — what — in — the — name — of — ” 
Harry gasped, then paused, gaping and speechless. 
“ Red Deer! Til! ” he presently shouted, jumping 
up. “ Punch me, Wes, to see if I’m asleep ! Where 
in the name of — Where did you come from? 
And pistols ! What are you going to do with the 
pistols ? ” 

It seemed fully a minute before Dr. Brent could 
get possession of himself sufficiently to answer. 
Even then he spoke in a sort of daze. “I am — 
I’m going to — put them — in my pocket. Harry, 



" IT SEEMED FULLY A MINUTE BEFORE DR. BRENT COULD GET 
POSSESSION OF HIMSELF SUFFICIENTLY TO ANSWER.” 




ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


365 


if it is indeed you — I find myself unequal to this 
occasion. We — the fact is — er — How do 
you do, Wesley, my boy? The fact is we’ve been 
shadowing you. We thought you were robbers. 
The boys are outside, Harry.” 

“ And what in goodness are you doing out here 
anyway? Trying to give people heart failure? 
Til, you old tramp, how’d you get here, anyway? 
I’ve had some surprises in the last year, but this is 
the limit! ” 

“We are on our vacation,” explained the doctor, 
weakly ; “ we are traveling and camping at the same 
time. Gordon is with us — ” 

“ Good ! ” said Mr. Conne. 

“ And we’re hunting for the home of that sol- 
dier fellow you and he met in Panama,” went on 
the doctor. 

“Well, here he is, right here,” laughed Jack; 
“ and mighty glad to see you, too ; the more the 
merrier.” 

Mr. Conne ha'd risen and sauntering to the front 
door, called in his funny, matter-of-fact way, 
“ Don’t you boys want to come in and have a bite 
of cold ham?” 

One by one, and cautiously, they entered, gaping 
like so many idiots, and when Mr. Conne returned 
he had his arm over Gordon’s shoulder. He 
seemed to have taken possession of him for his own 
particular amusement, just as he had done in 
Panama. 


366 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Regular meeting of the clans, hey, Harry? " 
said he. “ Well, Gordon, old boy, what are you 
going to do with the robbers now you've caught 
them? Here we are, all hands around St. Paul's, 
whatever that means, and the supper standing idle." 

The charm of his personality seemed to have 
made him host, here in the little Holden home, just 
as he had been the central spirit on Mr. Howell's 
yacht at Panama. 

The cry which rose from Gordon when he saw 
Harry, to say nothing of the Conne party and Wes- 
ley and Jack, brought downstairs Jack's mother 
and sister, and it was soon explained why the re- 
turning workers had made their entry surrepti- 
tiously into the house. 

“ This has been a terrible three days for all of 
us," said Jack, “ and my mother and sister have 
felt it too. They've been up every morning at 
daylight getting us breakfast and all day yesterday 
and the day before, squads of the men have been 
eating here. So we tried to come in and get our- 
selves a little supper to-night without waking them. 
That’s why we came in in back. Thank goodness, 
we’re through now! It’s been a tough job! " 

For a few minutes questions and explanations 
were flying as thick as bullets could possibly have 
flown if there had been, indeed, a deadly encounter. 
Bobby's delight at seeing Gordon was only second 
to Mr. Conne’s amusement and satisfaction at fall- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


367 


in g in with him again, and Gordon’s generous 
enthusiasm at finding Wesley the acknowledged 
hero of the occasion was only rivaled by his joy at 
this premature and romantic meeting with Harry. 
In short everybody was amazed at meeting every- 
body else, and overjoyed into the bargain. When 
the excitement was all over, one or two reflected 
that there had been no introductions at all, but they 
did not spoil the occasion by resource to that for- 
mal proceeding. It was Jack’s young sister who 
protested against it, saying that “if everybody 
didn’t know everybody else by this time, they never 
would.” 

“ Correct,” said Mr. Conne, to the laughing girl ; 
“ step up to the head of the class.” 

“ And there’s one thing,” said Gordon, shouting 
as if to clear a way for himself by his very voice; 
“ there’s one thing — even La Salle didn’t strike 
anything as good as this! He may have had ad- 
ventures — ” 

“ You’ll see them all on Excelsior Films,” said 
Mr. Conne. 

“ — and fought Indians and had intrigues against 
him, and caught the fever miles away from where 
the — what do you call it? — where the foot of 
white man — ■” 

" Sure,” said Brick Parks. 

“ — and been killed and all that — ” 

“ This is better than being killed,” put in Til. 


3 68 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Sure it is! ” vociferated Gordon. “ We've got 
La Salle beaten to a — something or other ! ” 

“ That’s what we have,” said Mr. Conne, “ and 
I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” he added, drawing 
Gordon toward him ; “ I wouldn’t be at all sur- 
prised if we have adventures enough yet to make 
Lewis and Clarke look like a pair of clothespoles 
in a back yard.” 

Amid all the laughter and talk, Bobby missed 
Wesley and found him alone on the little vine-cov- 
ered porch. The boy who had “ gone from bad to 
worse ” was leaning against a post and looking out 
upon the great river. Was it that it embarrassed 
him to be among those familiar Oakwood faces? 
Or was it just that the river fascinated him and 
that he liked to watch it flowing here past the 
simple home of these good people where it had 
always flowed? I do not know; he was a strange 
boy. 


CHAPTER XXX 


PLANS AND FAREWELLS 

" 0-o-o-o-h, won't it be great! ” 

“ Gigantic/’ said Mr. Conne. “ It will make the 
capital at Washington look like a homeopathic pill.” 

They had been talking of the proposed trip into 
Mexico and Gordon’s exclamation was uttered 
after a period of spellbound silence while he lis- 
tened to Mr. Conne’s plan. 

“Talk about adventures!” He felt that here 
was balm and recompense for what he had missed. 

“Of course,” said Mr. Conne, “ I cannot prom- 
ise that we will be killed — you mustn’t expect too 
much; but as we’re going where Spaniards are, I 
think I can assure you that we’ll be robbed. Per- 
haps if we’re good, we may even be thrown into 
jail — but you mustn’t count on it.” 

“ That’ll be going some,” said Harry. 

“ Oh, won’t it be luscious ! ” cried Gordon. 

“ I don’t want you to build your hopes too high,” 
said Mr. Conne. “ But between you and me I 
shouldn’t be at all surprised if we were held as 
hostages.” 

“ Real hostages ? ” shouted Gordon. 

369 


370 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Warranted genuine,” said Mr. Conne. 

“ Oh, cracky! ” Gordon felt that life could hold 
no greater bliss than to be “ held as a hostage.” 

“ Then it is settled we all go? ” said Mr. Conne. 

“ Apparently it is settled,” observed Dr. Brent, 
resignedly ; “ it’s as the troop ordains.” 

“ Three cheers for Red Deer ! ” shouted Roy. 

“We appear,” said the doctor, “ to be already 
held, by er — stronger fetters than any we shall 
find in Mexico. It seems useless to resist.” 

“Hurrah for Mr. Carleton Conne!” shouted 
Til Morrell. 

“ Down with Huerta ! ” cried Howard Brent. 

“ Three cheers for Excelsior Films ! ” 

“ Who says Mr. Conne’ s middle name isn't 
Action ? ” 

“ Who says Red Deer isn't a pippin ? ” 

The doctor removed his gold specs modestly, 
smiled a little and immediately replaced them. 

“Do you deny that you’re a pippin, doctor?” 
demanded Mr. Conne. 

“I am — er — willing to allow it to be — er — 
inferred that I am.” 

“ Why are Excelsior Films like the Reclama- 
tion Service?” called Pierce (Beaver), literally 
jumping with delight. 

“ Because they take you back to Nature! ” Gor- 
don shouted. “There! You thought I couldn’t 
guess it — y-a-a-a-a-h ! ” 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


37i 

Amid all this uproar, there rose the clear voice 
of a girl, “ I wish I was a boy.” 

Jack looked up at his sister and Mrs. Holden 
said, “ Did you ever hear of such a thing! ” 

“ That’s where you’re wrong, Martha,” shouted 
Gordon ; “ there have to be girls for soldiers to say 
good-b — I mean, farewell — to. By rights, you 
ought to give us some kind of trinkets — remem- 
brances — and tell us to look at them if we’re 
wounded.” 

“ ’T would take about two gross of trinkets,” said 
Mr. Conne. 

“ Well, anyway,” said Gordon, “ there’s a vine- 
covered porch to say good-by on — that’s one 
thing.” 

“ Yes, but I wish I was going,” said Martha. 

“ You’re supposed to stay here and pine away,” 
comforted Gordon; “see?” 

“ All right, I’ll try to,” said the girl, laughing at 
Gordon, in spite of herself. 

“ Did you ever see such a boy ? ” Mrs. Holden 
laughed. 

“ Good as a hot cruller, isn’t he ? ” said Mr. 
Conne. 

“ There have to be sisters and sweethearts and 
things,” said Gordon, with great finality ; “ else 
what’s the use of wars at all? There have to be 
gray-haired mothers, too.” 

“Did you ever?” said Mrs. Holden. 


372 


BOY SCOUTS 


“Well, then,” said Mr. Conne; “if it’s all set- 
tled that we all march under the banner with the 
strange device, Excelsior, I propose the dissolution 
of the Busy Beavers Amalgamated, Consolidated, 
Westward-Ho Syndicate, all unpaid dividends to be 
used in the purchase of picture postcards and hot 
tamales — which I understand to be the national 
delicacy of Mexico. I submit to the directors of 
the institution that the Westward Ho’s deck be left 
here as a private mooring-float, and that the super- 
structure, or one-time freight car, be formally pre- 
sented to Mrs. Holden in remembrance of her 
kindly hospitality, to be used as a chicken-coop. 
The Westward Hos then to combine with the Slow 
Pokes under the name of the long gulch lewis 

AND CLARKE AND WESTWARD-HO AMALGAMATED 
SLOWPOKE CONSOLIDATED AND EXCELSIOR SYNDI- 
CATE — absolutely unlimited. 

“ Since our object will be to obtain films to show 
people, we will be incorporated under the laws of 
Missouri. G. Lord, president and mascot ; W. Bin- 
ford, chief engineer; H. Arnold, private detective 
and cache-hunter ; Robertus Cullen, orchestra ; Hon- 
orable Red Deer Brent, M.D., robber-chaser and 
champion with pistols — guaranteed to put a pistol 
back in his pocket quicker than any scoutmaster in 
America. The five hundred dollars' reward which 
Mr. G. Lord will not receive to be devoted to pur- 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


373 


chasing a popgun for Dr. Brent and a pail and 
shovel to be presented to Brother Arnold to assist 
him in his antiquarian researches and treasure 
quests. 

“ All in favor of this will please help themselves 
to another biscuit,” he concluded, as Mrs. Holden, 
laughing, placed a laden platter on the table. 

Thus, in the little dining-room of Jack Holden’s 
home, was formed that mammoth combination 
whose meteoric and adventurous career will form 
the theme of another story. 

If you should ever visit the Holden home by the 
great river, and should go forth in quest of eels 
and catfish, you may experience a thrill as you moor 
your humble fishing punt to the very platform 
whose creaky planks once resounded to the mar- 
tial tread of the Oakwood Scouts. 

You will notice, too, at the back of the little 
garden patch, an oblong structure on stilts whose 
architecture exhibits a more chaste design than that 
usually seen in the homely, ramshackle chicken- 
coop; and the classic name emblazoned upon its 
side proclaims even through the network of impris- 
oning wire, its title to respect and homage; even 
as some chivalrous knight may peer wistfully 
through his prison bars, and speak of better and 
more romantic days. 

For even in its lowly and unsavory usage the 


374 


BOY SCOUTS 


remnant of the Westward Ho preserves some meas- 
ure of its former glory; and often in the early 
morn some boastful rooster will perch upon its 
leaky roof and peal forth his discordant note, as if 
to remind the world that his obscure and unpreten- 
tious home, like the Old South Church and Inde- 
pendence Hall, has a proud and glorious history! 


THE END 


THE BAR B BOOKS 

Bv EDWIN L. SABIN 


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THE CIRCLE K; or. Fighting for the Flock. Illustrated by 
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In an effort to locate a lost gold mine situated near the top of a 
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Also by Mr. SABIN 

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THE “SILVER FOX FARM” SERIES 

By JAMES OTIS 


THE WIRELESS STATION AT SILVER FOX FARM. 

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A bright, vividly written narrative of the adventures of Paul Simpson and Ned 
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An absorbing story of the building and working of an aeroplane on Barren 
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BUILDING AN AIRSHIP AT SILVER FOX FARM. 

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Encouraged by their success in aeroplane-building, the boys of Silver Fox 
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A further account of the marvels performed by the Silver Fox Farmers, in- 
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12mo, illustrated. Each, $1.25 postpaid. 

Other Books by TAMES OTIS 

FOUND BY THE CIRCUS. 

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Dorothy’s Spy Joel Harford Joey at the Fair 

Two Stowaways 

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A Short Cruise How Tommy Saved the Barn 

Dick in the Desert Christmas at Deacon Hackett’s 

Our Uncle the Major How the Twins Captured a Hessian 
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